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AMY’S MUSIC BOX, 


AND OTHER 

LITTLE STORIES AND VERSES 

FOR CHILDREN. 


BY 

ELEANOR C. DONNELLY, 


Author of “Poems,” “A Tuscan Magdalen ,” “ Children of the 
Golden Sheaf,” “ Hymns of the Sacred Heart,” “ Pet- 
ronilla and Other Stories,” etc., etc., etc. 



' 

' FEB 241896 





c.\ v 




PHILADELPHIA : 

H. L. KlLNER & CO., 


y 


PUBLISHERS. 



Copyright, i8g6, by 
ELEANOR C. DONNELLY. 


I2.-3ZO 


THIS LITTLE BOOK 

IS DEDICATED TO 

MY YOUNG AND DEAR GODCHILDREN, 

MAY, TRUE, AND CLARENCE. 



CONTENTS. 


AMY’S MUSIC BOX .... 
THE CATECHISM OF THE CLOCK 
THE CHOIR-BOY OF CHARTRES 
A GIRL WORTH KNOWING 

Margaret’s conversion 

ST. ANNE — THE CHILDREN’S FRIEND 

LOUIS’ FIRST COMMUNION 

A CORPUS CHRISTI LESSON 

THE LAST WITNESS OF A MISSION TRAGEDY 

THE FATE OF CHARLOTTE RUSSE 

A VISITOR FROM PURGATORY 

NINA’S CHOICE 

LITTLE DOMENICA’S VISION 
FRA MOSES AND THE FLOWERS 
THE QUEEN’S ROSARY 
OUR LADY OF THE CRIB . 

NANNIE’S CURE 

THE BIRDS AND THE GUARDIAN ANGELS 
LITTLE VESTRY AND THE WHITE SCAPULAR 


PAGE. 

7 
54 
. 57 

63 
.' 65 

75 

. 78 

88 
92 
100 
. 104 

109 
. Ill 
117 
. 120 
125 
. 127 

133 
. 135 


( 5 ) 


6 


CONTENTS. 


SEVEN COUSINS . 

ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS . 

SEASIDE CROCUSES FOR EASTER . 

JOCKO 

THE FIRST VALENTINE 
THE BOY WHO WAS DARED 
THE DARLING OF THE HOUSE 
NANA SAHIB .... 
THE MIND OF A LITTLE MAID 
A FUNNY STORY OF A VOCATION 


PAGF. 

141 

142 
160 
162 

171 

172 

185 

186 

195 

196 


AMI’S MUSIC BOI. 


ORA ! ” cried my Aunt Dorothy, 
as I bounded past the door of 
her room, one warm summer 
u morning ; “come here, and hold 
this skein of silk for me.’* 

I was jumping down the stairs, two at a 
time, in gay good-humor, and singing to my- 
self one of the airs out of Little Red Riding- 
hood, when this command arrested me. 

It wanted more than an hour yet to school 
time ; and, although our garden was not 
much of a place to look at (being neither 
very large nor very handsome), still it was 
cooler and pleasanter than the house ; and 
there was a nice old bench in the shade by 

the kitchen door, where I meant to have set- 

(7) 



8 


AMY'S 3IUSIC BOX. 


tied myself in five minutes, and pored over 
Kavanagh’s Madeleine until the school bell 
rang. But Aunt Dorothy wanted me to hold 
that stupid skein of silk ; and, on the instant, 
all my gaiety and good -hum or were gone. 

Sullen and pouting, I turned back at her 
call, brushing rudely against our solitary 
lodger, old Mr. Witchener, who was slowly 
limping up the stairs with his shaving-water ; 
and without any response to his gentle 
“ Good-morning,” went into my aunt’s room 
with a very ill grace. 

If I had not been so wilful and selfish, I 
would have felt a secret sting at seeing her 
at work so early in spite of the heat, my 
good Aunt Dorothy, whose thrifty fingers 
were never folded in idleness, but helped by 
their skilful labor to support us both so com- 
fortably. Like many another orphan niece 
(or nephew) reared by the generosity of a 
maiden aunt, I did not half appreciate the 
self-sacrifice of a life which hedged mine 
round about with blessings. 


AMY 1 8 MUSIC BOX. 


9 


The little bed was made up neatly with its 
white dimity cover and ruffled pillow-slips. 

The sunlight was dancing and sparkling 
upon the steel plate of the open sewing ma- 
chine ; and the yellow canary hanging by 
the low window nibbled at his fresh plantain- 
leaf, and returned thanks for his breakfast 
in a clear, high trill, which was as full of 
happiness as a bird in a cage could be ex- 
pected to make it. 

My Aunt Dorothy looked very grave, how- 
ever, — so grave, in fact, that as I stole a 
glance at her from under my lashes, I almost 
thought she was looking straight into my 
heart, and could see all the ill-humor which 
was lurking there, like an ugly toad lurking 
among the summer flowers. 

In the silence as we sat, I, holding the 
skein of silk and she, winding it (and a very 
tangled and unmanageable skein it was!), I 
could hear Mr. Witchener practicing up- 
stairs upon his poor old violin. The very 
persistence with which he went over a 


10 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


crooked scale, and over and over it again, 
each time seeming to find fresh knots in the 
notes, like those Aunt Dorothy was finding 
in the skein of silk, — only added more and 
more to my secret irritation. 

“ Dear me, Aunty, I wish he would stop ! ” 
I muttered crossly ; “ scrape, scrape, scrape, 
up and down, down and up, — it makes one 
sick to hear it ! If I couldn’t make any bet- 
ter music than that , I would go without it 
altogether ! ” 

“ You talk like a very ignorant little girl,” 
said my Aunt almost sternly ; “ and what is 
worse, like a very uncharitable one. For 
myself, I am no judge of music, and 1 do not 
pretend to know one tune from another ; but 
I do know that Mr. Witchener is a very 
worthy gentleman, and a good lodger, and I 
am very sorry, Nora, to see you so wanting 
in kindly feeling and respect for your 
elders.” 

The ugly toad in my heart winced at this 
home-thrust, and drew itself back among the 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


11 


flowers, but I had not the courage or the 
grace to cast it out on the spot. 

“ You are now thirteen, my dear,” contin- 
ued my aunt (she and Mr. Witchener both 
coming to a knotty place in their work at the 
same moment) ; “ and it is hard to be disap- 
pointed just when I was beginning to ex- 
pect you to act like a little woman and a 
Christian. I cannot tell you how grieved I 
was to hear you and Alice Tattleton amus- 
ing yourselves last evening at the expense of 
our lodger ; and meanly ridiculing one who, 
(Father Bryant says), is one of God’s hidden 
saints. If my head had not ached so badly 
at the time, I would have chastised you se- 
verely then and there.” 

My face burned hotly with shame. 

“ O Aunt Dorothy ! Allie and I did not say 
anything so very wrong. We only — only — 
only—” 

“ Only made game of a good old gentle- 
man’s dress and manners ; only mimicked 
the defect in his speech and the lameness in 


12 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


his walk (both of which are the work of our 
good God and for His own wise purposes) ; 
and only carried off your fun and your 
laughter in such a high ke}% that if the door 
on the landing was open, (as in all probability 
it was), Mr. Witchener must have heard 
every sound you uttered. O Nora ! how 
could you be so wicked, so cruel ! ” 

I began to feel very uncomfortable ; but 
the dark angel still had the upper hand of 
me. 

“ I don’t care,” I exclaimed, the tears com- 
ing into my eyes ; “ I don’t believe he heard 
us at all ; and even if he did, I don’t believe 
he felt it a bit. He is so old, and dry, and 
stiff, that he looks as if he was made out of 
wood, and never felt anything ! ” 

My aunt stared in dismay at this outburst. 
“ Why, Nora, I am astonished ! ” 

So was I, at my own evil temper ; but 
the skein of silk being wound by this time, 
I went over to the window, and heard the 
bird sing over my head, and looked down at 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


13 


the flowers and the sunshine in the garden 
below, and felt so out of keeping with it all, 
that I could have cried my eyes out. 

“ You may leave the room,” said my aunt, 
after a pause, as quietly as if nothing had 
happened. “ I think I heard Mr. Witchener 
go out just now ; and you had better put his 
room to rights before the school bell rings.” 

Once out of Aunt Dorothy’s sight, there 
came a perfect tempest of tears, and I sat 
down on one of the steps to enjoy the lux- 
ury ; but they were bitter and hot, and 
did me no good. I felt, if possible, more 
stubborn and passionate than before, as I 
went slowly upstairs to our lodger’s room. 

The poor old violin had ceased its sounds, 
and its box and its owner were both missing 
from their usual corner, as they always were, 
after a certain hour in the morning ; for Mr. 
Witchener gave cheap music lessons in 
schools and private families ; and went out 
dry, and stiff, and silent, and came back dry, 
and stiff, and silent, day after day, month 


14 


AMY’S 3IUSIC BOX. 


after month, — no one (save himself and the 
One who knows all things) knowing what a 
dreary time he had of it ; or how poorly he 
was paid for the wear and tear of his violin 
and his patience. 

As for me, (wicked little thing that I was), 
I knew no more about it than the green par- 
rot which hung by the window in its tin 
cage, swaying backwards and forwards in its 
ring, in a respectable, elderly fashion, like an 
old lady dozing in her rocking-chair. 

There was plenty of dust on the little table 
where our lodger kept his music; and the 
parrot had made a litter of crumbs and nut- 
shells over the window-sill and carpet ; but, 
instead of going vigorously to work, and 
brushing out the dust and the demon to- 
gether, I sat down in sullen idleness, and 
watched a slug crawling over a pot of gera- 
nium which stood before Our Lady’s pretty 
statue, and said “I don’t care !” to myself, 
several times, with spiteful emphasis. 

They were senseless words, to say the 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


15 


least, for I was caring intensely all the while, 
and feeling very miserable, indeed ; but they 
suggested something to Polly. She shook 
herself in her ring, and cried out abruptly, 
“ Take care ! take care ! ” 

The harsh voice startled me, it sounded so 
like a warning, close at hand ; and her red 
eye, as she blinked at me sideways, made me 
feel quite uncomfortable. 

Maybe she was like the wonderful talking- 
bird in the Arabian Nights , and knew people’s 
secrets. Who could tell ? Maybe, Mr. 
Witchener was a magician who had put a 
spell on her ; and who also kept a Genii 
under lock and key in that black box on the 
mantel-shelf. 

That mysterious black box ! — it was not 
big enough to hold all the curious surmises 
I had entertained about it,— since I first 
came, a very little girl, to dust Mr. Witch- 
ener’s room ! 

It was big enough, notwithstanding, to 
hold something very valuable. 


16 


AMY’S MUSIC BOX. 


Mr. Witchener said it did, when he cau- 
tioned me never to move it when I dusted 
the mantel. 

After that, although it was only a plain, 
ebony box, quite innocent of devices or 
ornaments, it was the most tantalizing box I 
ever beheld ; and my favorite friend, Alice 
Tattleton, to whom I had confided all this, 
had remarked more than once, that if she 
were in my place she would soon unravel the 
mystery. It wouldn’t take her long to get to 
the bottom of the box. 

It required a strong gulp to swallow this 
dishonorable suggestion ; but you can wear 
the edge off the sharpest knife, if you only 
know how to go about it. 

“ Suppose the box is locked, and some- 
body’s got the key ? ” 

That question always staggered Alice a 
little ; and now I sat and stared longingly at 
the provoking little black thing, and won- 
dered for the one hundred and ninety-ninth 
time, if it was locked, and if Mr. Witchener 
really carried the key in his pocket. 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


17 


If I were to lift it down on the table, and 
try the lid, who would be any the wiser ? 

The evil angel certainly had his arms 
about me that day ; — as, (forgetting all the 
honest, high-toned instructions I had received 
from my babyhood), I actually lifted our 
lodger’s treasure of a box from the mantel- 
shelf, and carried it to the table. 

It was the work of a moment, for the box 
was quite light. 

Polly laughed a harsh laugh, rocking her- 
self in an ecstasy, and cried out “ Take 
care ! ” again but it was too late. 

I was so much engrossed with the box, 
that I did not hear the halting step on the 
stairs, did not see the shadow in the doorway, 
and only knew that Mr. Witchener was ac- 
tually in the room, when he said in his stam- 
mering way : 

“ What are you doing there, little Nora ? ” 

Never before or since, was little Nora so 
thoroughly, so bitterly ashamed of herself, as 
she was at that moment. 

2 


18 AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 

All the mishaps and miseries of the morn- 
ing seemed to come to a head, and I stood 
there with burning cheeks and downcast 
eyes, not knowing what to say or do. 

“Come here,” said Mr. Witchener, not 
harshly, nor in anger, as he sat down in his 
chair, and drew me close to his side. 

“ Poor child ! ” he whispered to himself, as 
he stroked my long, fair hair ; “ poor child ! 
And so she really wanted to see what was in 
the little black box ? ” 

When I ventured to peep up into his face, 
he looked down on me with an expression so 
good, so kind, so full of a sort of meek sorrow, 
that I began to cry afresh. 

The old gentleman turned to the mysteri- 
ous box on the table, and touched one of a 
row of little brass buttons which were fixed 
upon its side. 

Immediately, I heard the most lovely 
music ! 

Something inside of the box began to sing 
in a sweet little delicate voice, like a fairy 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


19 


shut up in a flower ; and what it sang was a 
dear old hymn I loved best of all to sing in 
Sunday school : 

“ Ave sanctissma, 

We lift oar souls to thee, 

Ora pro nobis , 

Thou bright star of the sea. 

Guard us when sin is nigh, 

Snares round our path are spread ; 

Hear the heart’s lonely sigh, 

Thine, too, hath bled. 

“ Thou that hath looked on death, 

Aid us when death is near ; 

Whisper of heaven to faith, 

Sweet mother, sweet mother, hear! 

Ora pro nobis , 

From sin our slumbers keep, 

Ora, mater , ora, 

Star of the deep ! ” 

From beginning to end, straight through, 
it played every note perfectly ; and, forget- 
ful of my shame and sorrow, I ceased to 
weep, and with it, instead, clear and strong, 
I sang the hymn to our dearest Mother. 

When we both stopped together, the music 
box and I, the tears were running down Mr. 
Witchener’s cheeks in streams. 


20 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


He laid his hand upon my shoulder : 

“ Listen to me, little Nora,” he said softly : 
“ and I will tell you a story of that hymn. 
One of my pupils is sick this morning, and 
will not take his lesson ; so, as you also have 
an hour to spare before school, if you will 
sit here at my feet on this little stool, I will 
tell you the story of Amy’s music box.” 

His voice trembled a little as he said the 
last words ; but after a short pause, he went 
on more smoothly and evenly than was his 
wont : 

“Once, many, many years ago, when I was 
a young man, strong and happy, I had an only 
sister, a very precious little sister, who was 
ten years younger than myself, and just 
twelve summers old. 

“ Her name was Amy, and she was as fair as 
a lily, and had long curls about her sweet 
face, which were as fine and bright as any 
spun gold. 

“ She was a very frail little thing, but she 
was very wise and prudent; and no matter 


AMY’S 3IUSIC BOX. 


2J 

what trouble I had, battling with the world, or 
working at my trade, (I was an instrument' 
maker, and made excellent wages) — a few 
soft words from Amy as she lay in my arms 
before the fire of an evening, would seem to 
comfort me and heal all the wounds of my 
heart. 

“ We were orphans, without any near rela- 
tives; and we had a couple of rooms in a 
quiet house where nobody interfered with 
us ; and where I taught Amy her books of 
evenings ; and where she, during the day, 
(with the help of an old servant, who came 
and went), did our little bit of cooking and 
sewing. 

“ But we, neither of us, had ever been 
brought up to go to any church, or, in fact, 
to know much about God in any way. Only 
every morning and every night, we would 
kneel down, side by side, (before break- 
fast, and before bedtime), and I would say 
aloud : 

“‘O God! I thank Thee for all Thy 


22 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


goodness. I am sorry for all my sins. Keep 
me from ever displeasing Thee any more. 
Give me light to see Thy truth. Give me 
grace to love and serve Thee, now and for- 
ever, through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ 

“And Amy, with her earnest little face 
uplifted, and her small hands tightly joined, 
would always answer gravely, 4 Amen.’ 

“ This was our one act of piety : but we 
knew nothing better ; and for the rest, I tried 
to keep from doing anything I believed to be 
wrong; and tried, above all, to shield the 
innocence of my little sister from any harm 
that might have come to it. 

“ And this is how it ended. 

“One Christmas eve, as I was going home 
from work, turning over in my mind what I 
would buy my little pet for her Christmas 
present, I happened to pass a gaily-lighted 
window full of beautiful toys. 

“ In the midst of the pretty things, among 
dolls and tea-sets, and fairy suits of furniture, 
there was a little black music box, playing 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX . 


23 


away for dear life, and the tune it played was 
the old Christmas hymn, beginning : 

“ ‘ With hearts truly grateful, 

Come, all ye faithful, 

To Jesus, to Jesus, in Bethlehem! ’ 

“ Little Amy loved that hymn, though 
where she ever learned it, it would puzzle me 
to say ; but she often sang it those dark, 
winter twilights, with her arms about my 
neck, and her fair young head cuddled down 
upon my bosom. 

“ I went into the store, and bought the 
box. 

“I hid it that night under my pillow; but 
in the early dawn of the next morning, while 
my little girl lay sound asleep in her tiny 
cot-bed, I wound up the music box, and set it 
a-going; and when she opened her large, blue 
eyes in astonishment, the Christmas hymn 
Was being played close beside her head. 

“ Oh ! how delighted she was ! There 
was not a happier little maid in the whole 
city that day, for she loved music with all 


24 


AMY’S MUSIC BOX. 


her heart, and had never heard a music box 
before ; and she was quite too much of a lit- 
tle woman to care for childish toys. 

“We found out very soon that the box 
could play four beautiful tunes. Beside the 
Christmas hymn, there were Auld Lang Syne 
and Home , Sweet Home ; but the fourth tune 
puzzled us. It was altogether strange to us ; 
yet the melody was so very sweet and tender, 
that Amy got to loving it best of all. She 
caught it up, like a mocking bird, and sang 
it through note for note, — only longing again 
and again to know the words that must be- 
long to it. 

“ That winter was a bitter cold one ; and 
sometime in January, Amy caught a bad 
cold. She grew very thin, and used to cough 
a good deal at nights. 

For a while, the old servant came, every 
day, very early in the morning, and did not 
go away again until after supper ; for her lit- 
tle mistress was not strong enough to either 
cook or sew. 


AMY’S MUSIC BOX . 


25 


“ Neither was she able to sing her little 
tunes any more, (being so hoarse, and her 
breath coming so short and quick) ; so I had 
to do the singing instead ; and every even- 
ing when the old woman was gone, and we 
had our quiet chat before the fire, Amy 
would have me sing twice over the strange 
tune of the music box which neither of us 
could name. Amy called it 4 our favorite ; * 
and I can see her now with her pale cheek 
flushed, and her large eyes lifted, listening 
smilingly to the melody she loved so 
much.” 

The old gentleman paused, as if overcome 
by his recollections; whilst I awaited with 
intense interest and eagerness, the conclusion 
of his story. 

“ When May came on,” he continued, “ my 
little sister seemed to grow somewhat 
stronger ; and one bright, soft day, I took a 
half-holiday from my work: and we went 
out together for a breath of fresh air, away 
from the crowded thoroughfares. 


26 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


“We were walking along quite gay and 
cheerful through the sunny streets, looking 
at the parks, and watching the birds build- 
ing in the trees, which were just beginning 
to turn green and spring-like, when Amy 
suddenly whispered to me that she felt faint 
and sick. 

“ I put my arm about her, blaming myself 
for walking so far (and the child weak from 
her late illness), and looked around for some 
spot in which she could rest a while. 

“ A large building stood before us, and 
over the open door was a stone cross. 

“ I almost carried my poor little girl up 
the broad steps, and, we found ourselves in a 
church. 

“ It was a Roman Catholic church, although 
we did not know it at the time, not having 
been brought up to go to any church at all; 
or in fact, (as I said before), to know much 
about God in any way. 

“ There was an organ playing softly in a 
gallery up above us, and just as we entered 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


. 27 

the holy spot, a number of sweet voices be- 
gan to sing a hymn. 

“ 4 Our Favorite /’ whispered Amy eagerly, 
as she pressed my hand hard in hers ; and, 
sure enough, there they were, singing note 
for note, the strange melody the music box 
had given us so often : and the words which 
went with the tune were : 

“ ‘ Ave sanctissima, 

We lift our souls to thee! 

Ora pro nobis, 

Thou bright star of the sea ! 

Guard us when sin is nigh, 

Snares round our path are spread; 

Hear the heart’s lonely sigh ; 

Thine, too, hath bled.’ 

“ ‘ Thou, that hast looked on death, 

Aid us, when death is near ; 

Whisper of heaven to taith, 

Sweet mother, sweet mother, hear! 

Ora pro nobis, 

From sin, our slumbers keep ! 

Ora, mater, ora, 

Star of the deep ! ’ 

“ ‘ Ave purissima, 

List to thy children’s prayer ! 

Audi Maria, 

And take us to thy care ! 


28 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


When darkness comes o’er us, 

Whilst here, on earth, we stay ; 

Thy light shine before us, 

Guide of our way ! 1 

“ ‘ Thou, that hast looked on death, 

Aid us when death is near : 

Whisper of heaven to faith, 

Sweet mother, sweet mother, hear ! 

Ora pro nobis , 

Let angels guard our sleep ! 

Ora , mater , ora, 

Star of the deep ! 1 

“I had drawn Amy into a back pew; and 
the dear child leaned her head on my shoul- 
der, and closed her eyes, listening in a per- 
fect dream of delight. 

“ I looked about me attentively. 

“ There were a large number of young 
men and women, boys and girls, in the pews 
on both sides of the grand aisle ; and the 
women and girls wore white dresses and 
veils ; and the young men and boys had on 
their best suits, and had little nosegays of 
daisies in their buttonholes. And they all 
wore broad, white ribbons around their 


AMY’S MUSIC BOX. 


29 


necks; and all watched with earnest eyes 
the altar, which was decked with an abund- 
ance of flowers and burning candles : and 
which held besides a beautiful article of shin- 
ing gold, a sort of pedestal, supporting a 
round locket of glass, from which went forth 
a number of golden rays. 

“ It looked like an image of the rising 
sun. 

“On a small altar to the right of this 
large one, there was a marble statue of a 
most lovely Woman, on whose head rested a 
crown of fresh flowers, and at whose feet 
burned an antique lamp ; and just as the 
singers finished the last note of our favorite 
hymn, a gray-haired man and two little boys 
came out from behind this little shrine. 

“ They were dressed, as we thought, very 
strangely; for all three wore long black 
gowns, like women ; but while the little boys 
wore short white linen sacks over their black 
robes, the old gentleman (who had a very 
pure and gentle face), wore over his , a grand 


30 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


mantle of golden cloth, which was dazzling 
to behold. 

“ One of the boys had a silver vessel which 
he held by its long silver chains; and a 
sweet-smelling smoke came out of it, as he 
swung it up and down. 

“ Amy had her eyes wide open now, and 
was watching as eagerly as the rest. 

“ The gray -haired man went up the steps 
of the altar, and turned a key in a little door 
that was in it, and took out something round 
and white. 

“ He placed it inside the glass locket with 
the golden rays, which he then lifted, and set 
upon a shelf high up on the altar, where all 
the people could see it. 

“ When they did so, they all bowed down 
their heads in silent worship ; and the sweet- 
smelling smoke rose in clouds, and the singers 
began to sing a hymn in some foreign tongue. 

“ I hid my face in my hands, slipping down 
upon my knees, like the rest, and drawing 
Amy with me. 


AMY’S MUSIC BOX. 


31 


“ I felt a great joy and warmth come into 
my heart ; and I said over and over again 
to myself, (without knowing why,) a part of 
our daily prayer : 

“ ‘O my God ! give me light to know Thy 
truth. Give me a great grace to love Thee 
and serve Thee now and forever, through 
Jesus Christ our Lord ! ’ 

“ Then I glanced at Amy. 

“ The child looked more like an angel, 
than a creature of flesh and blood. 

“ She was on her knees, like the rest, with 
her hands joined, but with her head thrown 
back, and her large, bright eyes fixed in 
quite a wonderful way on the shining Locket 
above the altar. 

“ Such a strange, glad, loving look ! — as if 
she actually saw Something heavenly ahead 
of her, and longed so ardently to get nearer 
to It, and to take hold of It, that the 
great tears rolled swiftly down her pale 
cheeks. 

“ I was so frightened, looking at her, that 


32 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


I forgot for the time what was going on be- 
fore me ; and only remember, as in a dream, 
that there was a bell rung, and that the gray- 
haired man, standing once more on the altar- 
steps, took the shining Thing into his hands, 
and facing round on the people, moved It to 
and fro over their bended heads. 

“ Going out with the crowd, Amy leaned 
upon my arm, but seemed rested and happy. 
I asked a young man near me : 

“ ‘What church is this? and why have so 
many people gathered here for worship on a 
week-day ? ’ 

“ To which he replied : 

“ ‘It is a Roman Catholic church, the 
Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus ; and 
the Blessed Virgin’s Sodality have just had 
their May celebration.’ 

“ I did not know, in the least, what he 
meant ; but Amy whispered to me : 

“ ‘Ask him where that gray-haired old gen- 
tleman lives.’ 

“ ‘ The priest, you mean,’ said the young 


AMY'S 3IUSIC BOX. 


33 


man, smiling in reply (for he had overheard 
her); “that is Father Bryant, our pastor; 
and he lives just here, in this little house 
next door to the church.’ 

“ Amy drew me aside from the crowd. 

“‘Dear Walter,’ she said to me in her 
coaxing way, ‘please, oh ! please, take me in 
to see him. He looked so kind and good, 
and I have something I want very much to 
say to him.’ 

“ I was considerably worried at this strange 
request. 

“‘But, my darling,’ I said gently, ‘we do 
not know him at all ; we do not belong to his 
Church. I do not think it would be quite 
right for two strangers to make their way 
into his house, and take up his time, all for 
a little girl’s foolish notion.’ 

“‘Indeed, indeed,’ pleaded Amy, almost 
crying, ‘ it is not a foolish notion, dear brother. 
I really want to ask him something which 
nobody but him can tell me; and if you 
would only — there ! ’ she broke off joyfully, 
3 


34 


AMY’S MUSIC BOX. 


‘ the door is open, and he is coming out him- 
self!’ 

“ To my great surprise (for she was nat- 
urally a timid child with strangers), away 
she darted to the old gentleman’s side. Be- 
fore I could reach her, she had taken hold of 
his hand, and was looking up into his face 
with some eager question. 

“ The priest (who was no longer dressed in 
his elegant robes, but wore an ordinary black 
suit like my own), seemed very much aston- 
ished at her words whatever they were. 

“ He turned to me with keen, scrutinizing 
eyes, as I came up, rather ashamed of my 
little sister’s boldness. 

“‘Who is this child?’ said he, still hold- 
ing her hand. 

“ ‘Her name is Amy Witchener, sir,’ I re- 
plied, ‘and I am her brother Walter.’ 

“ ‘ Come into the house a few minutes,’ 
said Father Bryant; and we all three went 
in together. 

“ It was a plain little parlor, poorly fur- 


AMY'S 31 U SIC BOX. 


35 


nished, but very neat and clean. Father 
Bryant gave me a chair, and sat down him- 
self, drawing Amy close to his knee. 

“ 4 Now, tell me again, my child,’ he said 
to her, ‘what you saw in the church, just 
now, and what you want me to do about it.’ 

“It frightened me almost out of my wits 
to hear him say this to my little sister, and 
still more to hear the answer she made him 
in return. 

“ ‘ When you took that shining Thing 
into your hands, sir, a little while ago, and 
lifted it high above the people’s heads ’ — 
(she spoke in a low voice, but with every 
word perfectly clear) — ‘ I saw in it a most 
beautiful Man with long hair curling upon 
His neck. There was blood upon His fore- 
head, and on His hands, which He held out 
to me ; and, somehow or other, His breast 
seemed to be open, and I could see in it a 
Heart which was bleeding also, but which 
seemed, at the same time, to be all on fire. 
Oh ! how lovely He was ! ’ cried Amy, clasp- 


36 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


ing her hands, and forgetting everything 
else except the wonderful sight she had 
seen ; ‘ I could have knelt on there, sir, just 
looking at Him forever, for He seemed to 
draw my heart clean out of my body ; and 
all I could do w T as to whisper to Him, deep 
down in my soul, “ Come to me, come to me, 
whoever You are, and let me be with You 
altogether ! ’ ” 

“ The priest looked at her very sharply. 

“‘And what did He answer?’ he asked, 
after a pause. 

“A pained expression came over Amy’s 
bright face. 

“‘He said, “Not yet, dear child, not yet. 
First, you must be washed whiter than 
snow ; and then, you shall come to Me, 
Amy, and never leave Me any more ! ’” 

“ She knelt down at Father Bryant’s 
knee, and looked up at him with bright, 
tearful eyes. 

“‘Tell me,’ she said earnestly, (‘ for you 
held Him in your hands, and you must 


A3IY , S 31USIC BOX. 


37 


know) tell me where I must go to be washed 
whiter than snow. He will not let me come 
to Him until I am clean ; and after having 
once seen Him, sir, you know I caniiot live 
without Him any more ! ’ 

44 The tears came into the priest’s eyes as 
well as into mine ; and he suddenly asked 
me a question : 

44 4 Has this child ever been baptized ? 

44 4 No,’ said I ; and then I told him all our 
little history : how we were orphans : and 
how it came to pass that we had never been 
raised to go to any church whatever. 

“I did not even omit the story of the 
music box and the hymn. 

“ 4 This is very singular,’ said he ; and 
then he laid his hand kindly on Amy’s 
golden head : 

44 4 You must wait a little longer, my child,’ 
he said gently to her: 4 you must wait and 
pray and hope ; but I promise you, that if 
you truly wish it, in God’s own time, (which 
I trust will not now be very far off), 


38 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


you shall, indeed, be washed whiter than 
snow.’ 

“ Amy stood up, quite tranquil and con- 
tented.* 

“ ‘ Where do you and your sister live ? ’ 
questioned the priest, as we turned to go ; 
and when I gave him the street and the 
number, he said it was in his parish, and 
that he would call and see us. 

“ He was as good as his word ; and so, 
providentially, began our acquaintance with 
Father Bryant, the best and truest earthly 
friend we ever knew ; the one, whose dear 
hand was to open for us, poor motherless 
ones, the gates of holy Mother Church, and 
show us, beyond, the pearly gates of the 
Heavenly City where ‘night shall be no 
more : and they shall not need the light of a 
lamp, nor the light of the sun ; for the Lord 
God shall enlighten them ; and they shall 
reign forever and ever.’ 

“ I can never forget those peaceful, happy 
days, when Amy and I went back and forth 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX . 


39 


to our instructions in our old friend’s little 
parlor ; nor the quiet spring afternoons, 
when we studied our catechism by the open 
window of our lodgings till the dews fell 
softly, like joyful tears, and the stars came 
twinkling out, one by one, in the blue sky 
above us. 

“ In the month of June, on what Father 
Bryant told us was the Feast of the Sacred 
Heart of Jesus, he baptized us both before 
the Blessed Virgin’s altar in his own dear 
church. 

“ It was a wonderful day in our unevent- 
ful lives. 

“As for me, my heart was filled to over- 
flowing with a strange, deep joy : but Amy 
seemed quite beside herself, — like one who 
had forgotten everything except God and 
heaven. 

“ 4 Don’t ask me to talk or eat for this 
one day, dear Walter,’ she said to me softly, 
as we quitted the sacristy — where our names 
were written down. 


40 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


“ So I let her alone, and she spent the day 
upon her knees ; and when I called for her 
at the church on my way home from work 
that evening, the look upon her fair little 
face made the tears come into my eyes. 

“ It was, indeed, the look of one who had 
been ‘ washed whiter than snow.’ 

“ It proved to be a very warm summer 
that year, (such weather as very often fol- 
lows upon an extremely cold winter) ; and 
my little girl wilted under it, like a frail 
flower. 

“ I found I would have to take her away 
from the hot, dusty city ; so Father Bryant 
directed me to a lovely convent among the 
mountains, where the nuns agreed to board 
her until the fall. 

“ It was very hard to part with her ; but 
from the day of her baptism, I felt, somehow 
or other, in a curious way, as if my little sis- 
ter did not belong to me as closely or en- 
tirely as she used to before. 

“ However, I went out every week to see 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX . 


41 


her; and in the pure bracing air, the little 
fading lily seemed to gather strength and 
freshness ; and the nuns were so good to her, 
one and all, that, after these visits, I used to 
go back quite cheerfully to my dull lodgings, 
and even listen with a smile to the silvery 
tones of her dear old music box. 

“ It was playing Home , Sweet Home , with 
all its might, when Father Bryant brought 
its little mistress back to me, one day in the 
following October ; and when it passed from 
that familiar melody into that of “ Auld 
Lang Syne” I took the darling child upon 
my knee, and was foolish enough to drop 
some tears, unseen, upon her precious, golden 
head. 

“We were to make our first holy Com- 
munion together at Christmas, (Amy’s ill- 
ness and Father Bryant’s absence from the 
city having delayed it that long) ; but the 
autumn days seemed far too short for us, so 
busy were we making ready our hearts for 
the coming of that great, adorable Guest. 


42 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


“ I think it must have been the going to 
early Mass, one bleak day in November, that 
gave my poor Amy another cold. However 
it was, the old cough certainly came back 
again that fall, and she grew so thin that the 
purple veins showed quite plainly in her 
little face. I fancied I could almost see 
through her small hands when she held them 
to the light. Her eyes (which were always 
as blue as forget-me-nots), got to have a 
bright, expectant look in them ; and I often 
caught her humming in a soft, dreamy voice, 
as she went about her little work : 

“ ‘ Thou, that hast looked on death, 

Aid us when death is near ; 

Whisper of heaven to faith, 

Sweet mother, sweet mother, kear!’ 


“ But, she never gave up attending to her 
little duties, as she had done in her last 
severe illness ; and, as the weather grew un- 
expectedly mild about Christmas time, I be- 
gan to be more hopeful. 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX . 


43 


“ It was my fancy to dress her all in 
white for her first Communion feast ; so I 
brought her home that Christmas Eve, a 
snow-white merino dress and cloak, and a 
little pair of white kid boots, fit for a Cinder- 
ella’s feet. 

44 The nuns with whom she had boarded 
all the summer, had sent her a Christmas 
gift of a snow}^ veil and a crown of pure 
white roses; and Father Bryant, (when she 
went to confession that afternoon), had given 
her a present of a white pearl rosary. 

44 She told me all about her beads, and 
read to me her pretty letter from the nuns, 
whilst I ate my fast-day collation ; and after 
I had taken the nice toast and tea she had 
made for me with her own little hands, I, 
also, went away up to the old church to con- 
fession. 

44 When I returned, after an hour or so, 
full of sweet thoughts of the morrow, we sat 
in front of the blazing fire, listening to the 
music box playing the Adeste fideles , and, 


44 


AMY’S MUSIC BOX. 


hearing the Christmas horns blowing in the 
far-off, noisy streets : 

‘ The horns of elf-land faintly blowing,’ 

as I quoted from our favorite Bugle Song . 
We talked together in low tones, and re- 
called in tender gratitude and love, the many, 
many mercies and wonderful blessings our 
good God had showered on us ‘since I 
opened my eyes last Christmas morning ’ (as 
Amy said, with her face aglow with delight), 
‘and heard that dear little black box playing 
the Christmas hymn close alongside of my 
bed.’ 

“ The darling child was as happy as an 
angel ; and, indeed, I thought she looked 
like one, when I found her the next morning 
in her white robes, waiting for me to take 
her to the daybreak Mass. 

“She was the one spot of brightness in 
the dark room, for it was only a little after 
four o’clock, and the dawn would not be 
with us yet for more than two hours. 

“ When the light of the candle which she 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX . 


45 


held fell upon her face, I saw that it was 
very, very pale, but full of a sweet, ineffable 
peace. 

“I had taken the precaution to order a 
hack (on my way home from confession 
the night before) ; and it was well that I had 
done so, for a heavy snow was falling as we 
drove through the dark streets to the 
crowded church. 

“How beautiful it looked ! Wreaths and 
festoons of holly everywhere, and the myriad 
lights sparkling among the green, like the 
brilliant stars, which shone over Bethlehem’s 
stable, centuries ago. 

“Up near our blessed Lady’s Altar, they 
had made a little grotto to remind us of that 
first and famous one. The Divine Babe was 
in the manger, His holy Mother and Saint 
Joseph close at hand ; and the patient ani- 
mals standing in the straw ; while the shep- 
herds knelt before the crib in wondering 
worship, and the shining angels hovered over 
head. 


46 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


“It was here, in one of the front pews, that 
seats were reserved by the sexton for me and 
Amy: and just as we knelt down in our 
places, the choir burst out into the glorious 
old anthem : 

“ ‘ We praise thee, O God ! we acknowledge thee to be 
the Lord. 

All the earth doth worship thee, the Father everlast- 
ing ! ’ 

And on and on, they sang in triumphant 
tones : 

“ ‘ Thou art the King of Glory, O Christ ! 

Thou art the everlasting Sou of the Father. 

When thou tookest upon Thee to deliver man, 

Thou didst not abhor the Virgin’s womb, — ’ 

till every pulse of my heart seemed to throb 
in response to the glad, celestial music. I 
could see the little white -robed figure at my 
side trembling with happy emotion. 

“ What had we ever done, that God should 
be so very, very good to us ! 

“ 4 O most loving and tender Father ! ’ — 
(was the prayer which rose up with fervor 
from the depths of my soul) — ‘ Send me, after 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


47 


this, whatever cross Thou pleasest; and I 
promise Thee I will bear it with cheerful- 
ness and courage ! ’ 

“ Alas ! how little did I dream how soon 
my generosity of spirit would be put to the 
very hardest and bitterest of tests ! ” 

Mr. Witchener paused again for a few mo- 
ments, and I felt a hot tear fall on the hand, 
which rested on the arm of his great, old- 
fashioned chair. 

“ Father Bryant sang the Mass himself 
that day,” he went on, with the manner of 
one relating events of a very recent date : 
“and the music of the choir, as the service 
progressed, was really inspiring to one’s faith 
and devotion. Every care and trouble I had 
ever had seemed to pass away from me, like 
a dream, and I felt as if I should never know 
grief or sorrow any more. 

“ Blessed be God ! He had come to us at 

last ! Jesus, our Lord and Saviour, had 

entered into the poor abode we had prepared 
for Him. He had taken full possession of 


48 


AMY'S 31 U SIC BOX. 


the humble hearts He had drawn to Himself 
in such singular and mysterious ways ! 

“ For a time, I forgot everything else but 
Him. 

“There were a great many communicants, 
and it seemed as if it were a long, long while 
after our first Holy Communion, (although it 
could not really have been so,) — when I 
came to myself, and began to hear the sweet- 
voiced singers chanting Dona nobis pa cem. 

Then, for the first time, I felt my precious 
Amy leaning heavily against my shoulder. 

“ I put my arm quietly around her, and 
held her firmly against my side, thinking 
to disturb no one till the Mass was quite 
over. 

“ But, in the bustle following the Last 
Gospel , some one bent toward me out of the 
crowd, and whispered : 

“ ‘ The little girl has fainted ! ’ 

u I lifted the veiled, drooping head, and 
saw, indeed, the closed eyelids, and the 
white, white face. 


AMY’S MUSIC BOX. 


49 


“ I do not remember how we got her into 
Father Bryant’s parlor; but, somehow or 
other, the next thing, she was lying in her 
snowy robes upon his sofa, the white veil 
falling away from her golden hair, the white 
roses resting on her innocent brow, and the 
pearl rosary twined about her little waxen 
fingers. 

“Some one had opened the shutters of the 
room. 

“ The dawn had come, and the first glor- 
ious rays of the Christmas sunlight fell full 
upon my darling’s quiet face. 

“ All this while, (Heaven help me !) I 
thought she had only fainted ; but now, 
Father Bryant came and knelt beside me (as 
I began to chafe the small, wasted hands), 
and looked into my face with fond, tearful 
eyes : 

44 4 Courage ! my son,’ he whispered, his 
strong hand upon my shoulder ; 4 courage ! 
and think of the words of your angel-sister, 
— the words He said to her months ago, 
4 


50 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


when she (and you) knelt for the first time 
before Him in the Sacrament of His Love : 
‘First you must be washed whiter than snow, 
and then you shall come to Me, Amy , and 
never leave Me any more ! ” . . . She will 
never, never leave Him any more, now , Wal- 
ter. She is keeping her first Christmas with 
Him in Paradise ! ’ 

“Then, and only then, I knew that she 
was dead” 

Mr. Witchener got up as he spoke the last 
word, and began to walk to and fro in his 
queer, limping way. 

His face was very pale, and he seemed to 
have forgotten altogether that he was not 
entirely alone. 

“Nora! Nora!” called my aunt from the 
staircase below ; “ the last bell is ringing, and 
you will surely be late at school.” 

Away I went, full of tender, penitent 
thoughts. 

At recess-time, in a shady corner of the 
children’s playground, I took Alice Tattle- 


AMY'S 3IUSIC BOX. 


51 


ton aside, and told her the story of Amy — of 
the wonderful music box, of the still more 
wonderful first and last Communion. 

Alice shed tears (for she was more silly 
than wicked) ; and we both resolved to go 
to confession the very next day, and turn 
over a new leaf for the future. 

Turn it over we did, with a hearty good- 
will and a very humble apology to Mr. 
Witcliener for our past rudeness and dis- 
respect. 

Dear Aunt Dorothy was really charmed 
at the marked improvement in our manners 
and morals. 

She never knew (good, unsuspecting soul !) 
that Allie and I had not been to confession 
before for two or three months; and that we 
were just on the highroad to become very 
naughty and wilful young misses, when the 
touching story of the dead Amy arrested our 
wild career. 

As for me, I had soon abundant oppor- 
tunities to make amends for the past; for 


52 


AMY'S 31USIC BOX. 


our poor old lodger took very ill that fall 
with a low, nervous fever ; and lay sick for 
many weeks. 

Aunt Dorothy nursed him faithfully 
through it all ; but it was late in November 
before he began to resume his music lessons. 

Even then, he looked very pale and 
weak ; and on Christmas Eve, when I was 
dusting his room, and hanging some ever- 
greens around his chimney-place, he said to 
me : 

“ My child, when I was very sick awhile 
ago, and thought I was going to die, I made 
up my mind (if it was God’s will to take 
me), that I would leave my poor old parrot 
to your good aunt ; but that you should have 
my little Amy’s music box.” 

The next morning, he went to Holy Com- 
munion with us at the daybreak Mass. 
Later, as he did not come down, according to 
custom, to join us at our Christmas break- 
fast, Aunt Dorothy sent me up to call him. 

The door of his room was open wide, 


AMY'S MUSIC BOX. 


53 


and the glorious Christmas sunshine stream- 
ing in through the eastern window. 

There, with his crucifix in his hand, in 
his old-fashioned armchair beside the blazing 
fire, I found him — found him, cold and dead, 
but with a happy smile upon his peaceful face ! 

The parrot was sitting silent in its 
cage, its gaudy head tucked under its wing, 
as if in sorrow; but the brave little music- 
box lay open on the table beside its dead 
master, and the tune it was playing softly 
and tenderly was — Home , Sweet Home. 

Home, Sweet Home, it was, indeed, to 
that lonely, suffering spirit ; the fairest, 
sweetest of all homes that it hath ever en- 
tered into the heart of man to conceive, 
where the lost and darling Amy waited to 
welcome him to the footstool of Our 
Father ; and where the Babe of Bethlehem 
(folding them both to His burning, loving 
Heart) bade the angelic choirs intone again, 
and yet again : Gloria in excelsis Deo , et in 
terra pax hominibus bonce voluntatis ! 


THE CATECHISM OF THE CLOCK. 


ER catechism on her knee, 

Her pretty head in study bowed, 
A little maiden sat by me, 

And conned her task aloud. 

Upon the wall, just overhead, 

The clock was ticking in the sun 
“ How many Gods are there ? ” she said, 
And straight the clock struck One ! 

“ How many natures in our Lord ? ” 

Again she asked : “ Pray tell me true, 
How many natures in the Word? ” 

The clock responded : “ Two ! ” 

“ But in one God ” — she softly cried : 

“ How many Persons may there be ? ” 
The old clock faced her, open-eyed, 

And slowly counted “ Three ! ” 

( 54 ) 



THE CATECHISM OF THE CLOCK. 


55 


“ Well answered ! ” laughed the little maid, 
“ And now, the Cardinal Virtues o’er 
I pray thee reckon.” — Half-afraid, 

The timid clock struck Four ! 

“ Dear me ! how very true it sounds ! 

But tell me now (with love alive) : 

How many are our Lord's dear Wounds ? ” 
The grieving clock sobbed “ Five ! ” 

The maiden sighed upon her perch, 

And softly kissed her crucifix : 

“ What next? — The precepts of the Church?” 
She asked. The clock struck Six ! 

“ How many Sacraments, now tell ? ” 

The clock upraised one hand to heaven, 
With gladness in its silvery bell, 

It sweetly answered : “ Seven ! ” 

“ Upon my word, your funny moods ” 

(She cried,) “ amuse me — will you state 
The number of Beatitudes ? ” 

The ready clock struck Eight ! 


56 THE CATECHISM OF THE CLOCK. 

“ And now, the choirs of Angels bright 
I fain would know. Pray, give a sign ! ” 

The clock, amid a blaze of light, 

In triumph answered : “ Nine ! ” 

“ Well, I declare, it’s very odd, 

You queer old clock ! I’ll try again ; 

The blest Commandments of our God 
Pray tell ? ” — The clock struck Ten ! 

“ The number of Apostles name 

When Christ ascended into heaven ? ” 

(With thought of Judas, red with shame,) 
The clock gasped out : “ Eleven ! ” 

“Last, — give the fruits, the Holy Ghost 
Produces in pure souls, I pray? ” 

— The old clock told Twelve rapid strokes, 
And struck no more that day ! 


THE CHOIR-BOY OF CHARTRES. 


HERE is a legend in the annals of the 
Cathedral of Chartres, so pure, so 
precious, so redolent of the glory 
of God and His blessed Mother, 
that it seems to spring like a white lily from 
the dust and debris of the past. 

You may have heard or read the story. It 
is of our Lady’s little chorister, two hundred 
years ago ; a fair and graceful boy, like him 
of Nain, “ the only son of his mother, and 
she was a widow.” 

A golden voice was his. He was the 
leader of the boy-choir of Chartres ; and joy- 
ously, and out of the fulness of a clean heart, 
he sang the grand old chaunts and anthems 
of the Church. 

All the town knew and loved the lad with 
the wonderful voice. 

But once, during a solemn function in the 

( 57 ) 



58 


THE CHOIR-BOY OF CHARTRES. 


old Cathedral, when the aisles were densely 
crowded and the worshippers absorbed in 
prayer, the little singer was sent hurriedly to 
the vestry to fetch a needed missal. 

The child did not return. 

After a remarkable delay, a second mes- 
senger was dispatched, who brought back the 
missing book ; and the grand, pontificial pro- 
cession went on without further interrup- 
tion. 

At its close, the mother of the little singer 
came to seek her boy. 

He was nowhere to be found. 

A vigorous search was made. Every avail- 
able nook and cranny of cathedral, crypt and 
close were scoured — but in vain. 

The poor widow was frantic. Her little 
fair-haired boy, her pet nightingale with the 
golden voice, had vanished out of sight as 
completely as if the earth had yawned and 
swallowed him. 

The searchers paused after their fruitless 
hunt, and looked gravely into each others’ 


THE CHOIR-BOY OF CHARTRES. 


59 


eyes. In the ominous silence, some one 
whispered, with trembling lips : 

“ The well behind the grand altar /” 

That hint was sufficient. Shuddering, 
they followed the wretched mother as she 
flew to the spot. 

It was an old, deserted well, of almost fab- 
ulous depth. In the dust, (by the light of 
the torches,) there was seen the print of 
little feet leading toward the margin. 

There were no prints of little feet leading 
away from it! 

The rotten board upon its mouth was 
crushed, as though by a sudden weight. The 
boy must have made a short cut to reach the 
procession, and, dashing behind the altar, 
had either forgotten the well, or been totally 
ignorant of its existence. 

They leaned over the black abyss, and saw, 
far, far below, the flutter of something white ! 

The agonized mother had to be secured. 
She would have flung herself madly down 
into the yawning throat of the well. 


60 


THE CHOIR-BOY OF CHARTRES. 


But, calming her as well as he could, the 
Bishop himself, with the aid of a stout rope, 
proceeded to make the perilous venture. 

It seemed an age to those who watched 
and waited on the brink, but it was really 
the work of but a few seconds. 

The good Bishop was lowered carefully; 
the signal was given at the proper moment, 
and in less time than it takes to tell it, the 
prelate was safely in their midst again, with 
the lost one, like a white lamb, in his arms. 

The limp, lifeless form of the child lay 
prone upon his breast. 

“ Dear boy ! ” whispered the Bishop, with 
tears, as he smoothed back the long flaxen 
curls from the closed eyes and marble brow, 
“ dear boy ! he sings to-day in Paradise.” 

Ah ! then the grief of the desolate mother 
burst all bounds. 

With one quick movement she caught her 
darling to her bosom, and before they could 
check her, she was off to the shrine of Our 
Lady of Dolors. 


THE CHOIR-BOY OF CHARTRES. 61 

There, she laid her dead boy tenderly down. 
There, she poured forth a torrent of prayer 
and supplication to God and His Blessed 
Mother, so vehement, so heart-rending, that 
the whole multitude (albeit there were some 
among them careless and faithless enough), 
fell on their knees, and found themselves 
praying with her, “with a strong cry and 
tears.” 

The answer was quick in coming. 

There went up a sudden shout: “A 
miracle ! a miracle ! ” and he that was dead 
rose up with sparkling eyes and blushing 
cheeks, and sprang, a living, breathing joy, 
into the arms of his exultant mother. 

All this is very beautiful ; full of delicious, 
nourishing food for faith grown languid 
in these latter days. But, marvelous as is 
the legend in itself, still more marvelous to 
the reflective mind, are these words of the 
little singer, brought back so strangely from 
death to life two hundred years ago. 

“ As I fell into the pit, Monseigneur ,” he 


62 


THE CHOIR-BOY OF CHARTRES. 


said, in answer to tlie Bishop’s question, “ I 
distinctly heard you singing on the other side 
of the altar. You sang the words, ‘ Pax 
Vobiscum!' and as I went down, down, down, 
through the darkness, I heard the most rav- 
ishing voices singing: ‘ Pt cum spiritu tuo!' 

“ I fell unhurt into the arms of the White 
Lady, as I already told you, and then I saw 
who the singers were. Monseigneur, they 
were beautiful angels. The whole well was 
filled with their light, and they sang so 
chastely, in tones so gravely sweet, so full of 
God, that my soul seemed to go out of my 
body as I listened to them.” 

The legend closes with these significant 
words : 44 And so it came to pass thereafter, 

in the Cathedral of Chartres, that when the 
Bishop sang the 4 Pax vobiscum ! 9 the 
choristers were silent; not only to com- 
memorate the miracle of the little singer, 
but, furthermore, out of reverence for the 
heavenly chorus chaunting then and there 
the 4 Et cum spiritu tuo ! 1 99 


A GIRL WORTH KNOWING. 


HE’S not a beauty, as beauties go, 
With a graceful tangle of golden 
hair, 

Eyes like sapphires, a brow of snow, 
And cheeks like the petals of roses rare ; 
But the light that shines from her sweet, 
young face 

Flows straight from the Angels’ dwelling 
place. 

She does not lie on a lounge all day, 

With a box of candy and Zola’s “last,” — 
Soiling her soul in so vile a way, 

That the very demons stand aghast ; 

But she reads the book of her fellow men, 
And aids the weak with tongue and pen. 

She does not go to a dance at night, 

And whirl in the arms of a stranger lad ; 

Nor travel the streets in broad daylight, 

( 63 ) 



64 


A GIRL WORTH KNOWING. 


With a puppy to share her promenade. 

For her days and her nights are sown with 
seeds 

Of ennobling thoughts, and words, and 
deeds ! 

The poor rejoice when they hear her name, 
The babes, at her voice, like flow’rets bloom ; 
She is eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame, 
And a star-like presence in hours of gloom ; 
For she follows the first of the golden laws : 
“ Forget thyself in thy Master’s cause ! ” 

Happy the man who shall bring her home 
To rule his hearth as his cherish’d wife ! 

He shall gather the honey with the comb, 
And taste of its sweetness all his life ; 

And the children she bears him in her 
breast, 

Shall rise, one day, to call her blest ! 


MARGARET'S CONVERSION. 


were all gathered on the moon- 
lit porch of our little seaside 
cottage, one pleasant evening, 
last August. 

It was after Vespers at St. Nicholas’, and 
young Agnes Carroll had walked home with 
us through shining streets full of the breath 
of the sea. 

Sweet Agnes Carroll ! her pure white mus- 
lin dress, simple sailor-hat trimmed with 
white ribbons, and the bunch of water-lilies in 
her corsage, seemed to make her blonde 
beauty more virginal and angelic than ever. 

She was the center of our group ; and as 
the moonlight shone into her clear, blue eyes, 
and tenderly touched her yellow hair, and 
rosy smiling mouth, it revealed an odd little 

cross among the lilies on her breast. 

5 ( 65 ) 



66 


MARGARET’S CONVERSION. 


Mr. Jolyne asked : “ What sort of a cross 

is that, Miss Agues ? ” 

“ A Promoter’s cross,” she replied with a 
merry little smile. 

Mr. Jolyne, you must know, was a very 
worldly sort of young Catholic, good enough 
in his way, but surprisingly ignorant of de- 
votional ways and practices. 

“ A Promoter — of what ? ” he questioned, 
quite at a loss. 

“ Of devotion to the Sacred Heart of 
Jesus,” said our sweet Agnes, her lovely face 
glowing with enthusiasm ; and then, she be- 
gan to talk of the League, of its aims, of its 
past, present, and future work, until our 
hearts, like those of the disciples going to 
Emmaus, burned within us with a lire kindled 
in the very furnace of the Divine Heart Itself. 

“ In our store,” pursued Agnes — she was 
employed as saleswoman in one of the great 
drygoods emporiums — “I long felt attracted 
to a young girl in the same department with 
myself. 


MARGARET'S CONVERSION. 67 

“She was always well-dressed, and she 
seemed to go into a good deal of gay society; 
but, for all that, there was a settled look of 
unhappiness in her face, and she was often 
absent and depressed in manner. 

“ I said to myself : ‘ That girl needs help 

from the Sacred Heart of Jesus !” But I 
bided my time. 

“ At last, it came. 

“ I stood near her one day, and our work 
was over for the nonce. 

“I whispered to her gently : ‘I am sure 
you are a Catholic, and yet, I hear, you 
never go to confession ! ’ 

“ She blushed brightly, but did not seem 
to be offended : ‘ I have not been to the 

Sacraments for a year,’ she said. 

“ ‘ O Margaret ! ’ I returned, still under 
my breath : 4 why don’t you pray to the 
Sacred Heart?’ 

“ She turned her head abruptly away : 

‘ What has the Sacred Heart to do with the 
like of me?' she answered over her shoulder: 


68 


MARGARET'S CONVERSION. 


‘ I can not pray — I can not do anything for 
God ! ’ 

“ I put my arm around her, and pleaded : 
‘ Oh, you could do so much here, in this very 
place ! Every time you take down a piece of 
goods from the shelf, and put it up again, 
you could say: ‘ All for Thee , 0 Sacred 
Heart of Jesus! All for Thy honor and glory ! ' 
And thus, all day long, you would be mak- 
ing the most beautiful acts of praise and hom- 
age to the heart of our beloved Lord ! ’ 

“ She did not answer me, but as she walked 
away, it seemed to me that her eyes were full 
of tears. 

“ That evening, I recommended her case to 
the prayers of the League. 

“ The next morning, I was standing alone 
at the counter, free for a few moments from 
the rush of customers, when Margaret drew 
close to me. 

“ Blushing more deeply than she had done 
the day before, she said in a low voice : 

“ ‘ I told you a lie yesterday, Agnes. I 


MARGARET'S CONVERSION. 69 

said it was a year since I had been to the 
Sacraments — it is seven years ! ’ 

“ I was a good deal shocked, but much 
touched at the same time by her courage and 
humility. 

44 This was one step in the right direction. 

44 4 Pray to the Sacred Heart of Jesus,’ was 
all I said. 4 Ask It to help you, Margaret! ’ 

44 She shook her head, despairingly, I 
thought ; and went away to wait on a cus- 
tomer. 

44 Matters remained unchanged for some 
weeks. I recommended poor Margaret again 
and again to the prayers of the Associates. 
I kept on offering holy Communions and 
Masses for her; but she held aloof, and the 
look of unhappiness and depression deepened 
on her face. 

44 Finally, one blessed day, an inspiration 
came to me. 

44 4 The key of the Sacred Heart,’ — thought 
I — 4 is in the hands of our beloved Mother 
Mary. If I appeal to her in this case, she 


70 


MARGARET'S CONVERSION. 


will obtain the necessary grace for my poor 
Margaret ! ’ 

“ That very day, at lunch-time, I gave 
the poor girl a little medal of our Blessed 
Lady. 

“ ‘ Recite every day, the little prayer upon 
this medal,’ I said to her: ‘ 0, Mary , con- 
ceived without sin , pray for us who have re- 
course. to thee!' And then I added: ‘You 
will come with me to St. Joseph’s, next 
Thursday evening, and go to confession ! ’ 

“‘I can not!’ she murmured in a voice 
choked with emotion. ‘ I will wear the 
medal and say the prayer, but I can not go 
to confession ! ’ 

“ I did not press the matter further. I 
had placed it all in our Blessed Mother’s 
hands, and I felt sure she would soon win 
this estranged soul to the Sacred Heart of 
her Divine Son. 

“ On Thursday morning, Margaret came 
to me in the cloak-room, where I was taking 
off my wrap. 


MARGARET'S CONVERSION. 71 

“ She was very pale, but her eyes shone 
calm and clear as stars. 

44 4 1 am going with you to confession, this 
evening, Agnes ! ’ she said. 

“ Then, she suddenly burst into tears, and 
hid her face in her hands. 

“We were alone together. 

“ ‘ What is it, dear ? ’ I questioned. 

“ ‘ O Agnes ! ’ she sobbed, ‘ how good God 
has been to me ! Last night, I went to bed 
determined not to go to confession. I felt 
hardened and desperate. Oh, you do not 
know all — you do not know all ! ’ — and her 
poor face became suffused. 

“ ‘Never mind, dear,’ I said softly. ‘ Go on.* 

“‘I fell asleep,” she continued with diffi- 
culty. 4 It must have been late in the night, 
when I awoke suddenly. A strange light 
was before me, and in it, I seemed to see that 
picture of the Sacred Heart you showed me 
once, with the Blessed Margaret Mary (you 
remember, you said she was my patroness), 
kneeling before It. 


72 


MARGARET'S CONVERSION. 


“ ‘ I looked at It, still hesitating and de- 
spairing, when a sweet Voice said quite dis- 
tinctly to me: “ Our Lord Jesus Christ died 
to save sinners — You are a sinner , — He died to 
save you ! ” O Agnes ! my very heart seemed 
to melt within me with burning sorrow for 
the past! Everything appeared to me in 
such a new and beautiful light. I felt as if 
I could hardly wait till Thursday evening to 
go to confession ! ” . . . 

“ That evening found us both at Father 
Q ’s confessional. 

“Just before it came Margaret’s turn to 
go in, she turned to me with a look of an- 
guish, and whispered : 

“ ‘ How can I ever tell the priest I have 
been away for seven years ! ’ 

“ It was the last assault of the Enemy. 

“ Ask the Sacred Heart and our Blessed 
Mother to give you strength ! ’ I whispered 
in return ; and presently, she entered the box 
with a resolute but deadly-pale face. . . . 

“ Oh, how happy and radiant she looked 


MARGARET'S CONVERSION. 73 

when she came out ! Her face seemed abso- 
lutely transfigured. All the way home, she 
kept saying at intervals, with a joyful little 
sob : 

“ ‘ Thanks to the Sacred Heart of Jesus 
for this grace ! Thanks to our Blessed Lady 
for that good confession ! ’ . . . 

“ Since that night, Margaret has gone to 
the Sacraments every fortnight. She is a 
changed and happy girl — a source of edifica- 
tion to all around her.” 

Agnes ceased her little story. We all re- 
mained silent, too much moved for words. 
The roar of the ocean could be heard in the 
distance, like the diapason of a grand organ. 
Over the treetops, the spire of St. Nicholas’ 
sparkled like silver in the moonlight, an ar- 
gent wand pointing out the resting-place of 
the Heart that never wearies of our wants 
nor slumbers in our service. 

There were tears in Mr. Jolyne’s eyes; 
and, as he got up and walked away with a 


74 


MARGARET'S CONVERSION. 


new expression on his face and doubtless 
many new emotions in his awakened soul, 
one of our party nodded toward Agnes, and 
quoted in a low voice, meant for my ear 
alone : 


Oh, make of me a little torch 
Of purest charity, 

To kindle in indifferent hearts 
The tenderest love of Thee ! 


ST. ANNE, TEE CHILDREN'S FRIEND. 


WEET mother of our Mother blest, 
And modest grandame of her 
Child! 

To-day, our eyes, in spirit, rest 
Upon thy visage pure and mild. 

Thou gentle mate of Joachim ! 

(The aged spouse to thee God-given), 

We come to hail thee, close to him, 

Beside thy Daughter’s throne in heaven. 

For on thy breast, a lily white, 

The little sinless Queen once lay 
She nestled in thine arms by night, 

And crept about thy feet by day. 

Her tender eyes were trusting raised, 

To read thy tranquil mother-face ; 

And, when her God she prostrate praised, 

’Twas at thy knee she found her place. 

( 75 ) 



76 ST. ANNE, THE CHILDREN'S FRIEND. 

O tree, whence that rare blossom sprung, 
Whose fruit was Jesus, God and Man ! 

What pen can trace, what happy tongue 
Can sing thy glory, sweet St. Anne ! 

What artist-brush dare paint thy bloom, 

Thy chaste, maternal loveliness, 

Who bore within thy blessed womb 

The Maid whom men and angels bless ? 

’Twas thine to fold the robes of snow 
About her tiny, fragile form ; 

On velvet cheek and virgin brow, 

To rain thy kisses, soft and warm. 

’Twas thine to clasp those dimpled hands, 
From whose pure palms God’s blessings 
flow ; 

All ranks and ages, climes and lands, 

Those hands of power and mercy know. 

Ah ! when with grief, in Temple old, 

Thine infant charge thou didst resign ; 

No martyr brave, confessor bold, 

Could match that bitter pain of thine. 


ST. ANNE , THE CHILDREN'S FRIEND. 77 

For (all the after-days grown dim, 

Missing thy darling meek and fair) 

Thy life, thenceforth, with Joachim, 

Was one long sacrifice and prayer. 

O mother of our Mother blest ! 

We gladly gather round thy feet, 

As favorite children, fondly pressed 
With Mary, to thy bosom sweet. 

The while we watch that face which sheds 
Around us heaven’s light serene ; 

And feel that hand upon our heads 

Which tended once its peerless Queen, — 

Our woes, our wants, we breathe to thee, 
Cast on thy heart each weight of care ! 

Thine ear is open to our plea, — 

To hear is but to grant our prayer. 

Ah ! be in life the children’s friend, 

Dear grandame of the Son of man ! 

And guide us safely at the end 
To God and Mary, good St. Anne I 


LOUIS' FIRST COMMUNION. 


CE upon a time, many years ago, a 
little boy in France, (afterwards a 
great man), was making ready with 
others for his first Holy Communion. 
Sad to say, although he was so small and 
young, he had played sometimes with bad 
boys, who taught him things that were very 
wrong and wicked. 

Little Louis, (for that was his name), did 
not think much about these sins until he be- 
gan to go to church, and listen to his pastor’s 
instructions on the Sacraments. 

“ My children,” said that good priest, a few 
days before the First Communion Sunday : 
“ The happy day will soon be here. On that 
morning, you will come to Mass. You will 
kneel around this altar. At the proper 
time, I will lay upon each of your tongues 

what will look like a little white wafer; but 
( 78 ) 



LOUIS’ FIRST COMM UNION 


79 


that little white wafer — that little white Host, 
will be really the Body and Blood of our 
Lord Jesus Christ, true G.od and true Man. 
Now listen, dear boys and girls, listen closely 
to my words. This God whom you will 
then receive into your mouths, into your little 
breasts, is such a very pure God, such a very 
holy God that your hearts and souls must be 
very clean and white when He comes to you. 
What then must you do if your hearts are 
now soiled, if your hearts are now black and 
filthy in the sight of heaven ? As I told you, 
the other day, you must beg our Lord to 
show you all your sins, to make you very 
sorry for them, to help you tell them every 
one in that good confession you are about to 
make, and to give you the grace never again 
to do, or say, or think anything against His 
holy law.” 

Little Louis listened to all this, and grew 
red and pale by turns. 

He was a timid child, and he was very 
much frightened at what he heard. 


80 


LOUIS’ FIRST COMMUNION. 


He must then go, as it were, with a light 
into the dark, dirty closet of his heart. 

He must hunt, up all those bad, wicked 
things that lay hidden deep down in his soul, 
like ugly black snakes in muddy, slimy water. 

His father and mother knew nothing about 
them : yet he must lay them bare to the 
priest in confession. If he did not do so, 
the sweet Lord J esus would come to him for 
the first time in anger, instead of love. 

The boy went out of the church, full of 
thought. He was in such fear and trouble 
that his head ached, and he could not pla} r 
at football with the other lads in the sunny, 
green field near the schoolhouse. 

You see he had formed quite a wrong idea 
of Confession. 

He did not know, poor boy, that it is a 
Sacrament as sweet as it is holy ; that the 
priest is the good father of the soul, loving 
and pitying the sinner as a tender parent 
loves and pities a sick child. That the con- 
fessor is never shocked at any sin we may 


LOUIS ’ FIRST COM 31 UNION. 


81 


tell him, no matter how dreadful it may be ; 
and that he has sworn a solemn oath never 
to tell anything lie hears in confession. 

This oath he must keep even at the cost 
of his life. 

And when we tell him all our sins, and are 
very sorry for them, because they displease 
God ; and when he has made the sign of the 
Cross over us, and spoken the blessed words 
of pardon, a shower of Blood from the veins 
of our Lord Jesus Christ falls upon our souls, 
and washes them whiter than snow. 

If Louis had paid more attention to the 
priest’s instructions, or if he had not played 
truant some of the days, he would have 
known and understood all this. 

But now, he thought only of his wicked 
sins, and of the shame and terror of telling 
them. 

That afternoon, the children went to con- 
fession. Most of them told the priest all the 
sins they had committed since they first be- 
gan to know right from wrong. 

6 


82 


LOUIS’ FIRST COMMUNION. 


It was beautiful to see them coming out 
of the box with their rosy little faces full of 
joy and peace. 

They had tried their best to make the lit- 
tle houses of their souls clean and pure for 
the great Guest they expected. 

At last, it was Louis’ turn to go into the 
box. 

He had been so busy thinking of his ugly, 
nasty sins, and worrying over the telling 
of them, that he had not even asked God to 
help him to be sorry for them, and give him 
courage to tell them. And he had forgotten 
all about asking our Blessed Mother to aid 
him. 

He was shaking from head to foot. He 
was as cold as ice, and quite sick with fear. 

He stammered through a few little sins — 
then stopped — and all was so quiet he could 
hear his heart thumping against his side, like 
a hammer. 

The priest asked him some questions. 
Louis answered them in a half-choked voice. 


LOUIS' FIRST COMMUNION. 83 

Then, some kind words were spoken ; a few 
Hail Marys were given him for his pen- 
ance. 

The boy saw the priest’s hand raised ; he 
heard the murmur of the Absolution — the 
wooden slide closed on him, and he found 
himself kneeling before the Crucifix on the 
wall, utterly miserable and unhappy. 

He had lied to the priest — he had lied to 
the Holy Ghost! 

He had kept back his very worst sins ! 

A great sob burst from him. The tears 
began to run down his cheeks. 

“This must be the way that Judas felt 
after he sold our Lord ! ” he thought in his 
heart; and then, he sobbed aloud again. 

A little girl kneeling beside him whispered 
in his ear : 

“Don’t cry, Louis! — I cried too, in the 
box, because I was so sorry for my sins ; but 
I asked God to help me, and now, I feel so 
happy, — oh, so very, very happy ! ” 

The boy could stand no more. He rushed 


84 


LOUIS' FIRST COMMUNION. 


out of the church, and hurried off home with- 
out meeting any one on the way. 

Running upstairs to his own little room, 
he shut the door, bolted it, and then, groaned 
aloud at what he saw. 

There, on the bed, was spread out his First 
Communion suit — new jacket and knicker- 
bockers of fresh white linen, a pair of white 
kid gloves, a white satin tie, and a great wax 
candle trimmed with white flowers and 
ribbons. 

All as pure as snow — while the clothing 
of his poor soul (he well knew) was as black 
as ink ! Oh, how terrible ! 

His mother knocked at the door, and when 
he slowly drew the bolt and let her in, she 
took him in her arms and kissed him, telling 
him how glad she was to see that he wanted 
to pray alone in his room, and begging God 
to bless her dear, good boy who was now 
(she hoped) after his general Confession as 
clean and innocent as he was when a bap- 
tized baby. 


LOUIS » FIRST COMMUNION. 


85 


But Louis only clung closer to her, hiding 
his white face on her bosom, and crying as 
if his heart would break. 

Oh! if he could but tell her the truth! 
But he dared not. 

All night long, he lay awake, shivering 
with pain and fear. 

At the dawn of day, his guardian Angel 
must have touched him in pity, for he sud- 
denly remembered the words of the little girl 
in church: “I asked God to help me, and 
now, I feel so happy, — oh ! so very, very 
happy!” 

Why not ask God, why not ask our Blessed 
Lady, to help him, also? 

He got out of bed, on the instant, and 
kneeling there alone in the dim light, he said 
over and over again, with many sobs and 
tears : 

“ Oh dear God ! O sweetest Mother ! help 
me to do what is right, and with Your aid, 
I’ll never sin any more ! ” 

An hour later, Louis was in the old church, 


86 


LOUIS' FIRST COMMUNION. 


in the pew with his comrades, dressed in his 
white suit, and waiting for the Holy Mass to 
begin. 

He was very, very pale, but there was a 
brave, honest look in his eyes, and almost a 
smile around his little mouth. 

Every few minutes, he would clasp his 
hands and looking at the altar, whisper fer- 
vently : “ O dear God ! O sweetest Mother ! 
help me to do what is right ! ” 

A priest passed up the aisle on his way to 
the vestry. 

Louis leaned forward, and touched his 
arm, saying : 

“O Father! please take me with you — I 
want to speak to you ! ” 

It was all the work of a few minutes. 

No sooner had the vestry-door closed upon 
them than Louis fell on his knees at the good 
priest’s feet, and made his bad Confession all 
over again ! 

Oh ! what a happy moment was that! 

After all was told bravely and truly, the 


LOUIS' FIRST COMMUNION. 


87 


Father spoke to Louis so gently, so lovingly, 
that the poor boy cried for very joy. 

And seeing how sorry he was for his great 
sin, and how terribly he had suffered for it, 
the priest not only gave Louis absolution for 
all, but told him he might make his first 
Holy Communion that morning with the rest 
of the children. 

When Louis came back into the church, 
the Holy Mass was just beginning, and no 
words of mine can express the boy’s delight 
as he assisted devoutly at it, or still more, 
when he heard the bell ring for the “ Domine 
non sum dignus ! ” and, going up to the altar- 
railing, received into a clean heart, full of 
contrition, faith, hope, charity, and humility, 
the Body and Blood of the sweet Jesus, who 
had been so good and merciful to him. 


A CORPUS CHRISTI LESSON 


J F some one came and told yon, O my 
darling ! 

That in the little church across the 
v way, 

Our Lord was throned within His sanctuary, 
And giving audience the livelong day; 

Our true and living Lord, the same meek 
Jesus 

Who trod the streets of Nazareth of old ; 
And thro’ Jerusalem went preaching, healing, 
In sunshine or in storm, in heat or cold. 

The same sweet S^vioi.ir, who, with gentle 
mercy, 

Gave to the dumb their speech, the blind, 
their sight ; 

And to the deaf, their hearing ; lepers cleans- 
ing; 

And bringing back the dead to life and light. 
( 88 ) 


A CORPUS CHRISTI LESSON. 89 

If some one came and told you He was wear- 
ing 

Ilis seamless robe, — His face with love aglow ; 
And in His hands and feet the wounds out- 
shining, 

He won on Calvary, centuries ago. 


That all who chose might gather there and 
greet Him, 

(Sure of a Heart that for them burns and 
bleeds,) 

And kneeling at His feet, might humbly kiss 
them, 

And tell to Him their woes and pressing 
needs. 


O, with what eager ardor you would hasten 
To look upon that miracle of bliss ; 

His voice to hear ; upon His dear face 
gazing, 

To press upon His feet, your trembling 
kiss ! 


90 


A CORPUS CHRISTI LESSON. 


O, with what faith and fervor you would tell 
Him 

The story of your ev’ry grief and care, — 

Sure that His living ear to you attended, — * 

That, hearing, He was pledged to grant your 
prayer ! 

Behold ! I come to tell you, O my darling! 

That, in the little church across the way, 

In all our churches, all our shrines, my dar- 
ling! 

This miracle is happening to-day. 

To-day, and every day, — all times and sea- 
sons, 

Our true and living Lord upon His throne, 

In storm or sunshine, heat or cold, unfailing, 

With love and tenderness awaits His own. 

“ Hear me, beloved ! ” soft He seems to mur- 
mur, 

“ I am the Truth, — I never can deceive ; 

Tho’ in this Sacrament I veil My glories, 

Blessed are they who, seeing not, believe ! ” 


A CORPUS CHRISTI LESSON. 


91 


And, O, while burning tears fall fast and 
faster, 

Answer, my darling, full of love and grief, — 
“ Pardon my feeble faith ; — O Lord and 
Master l 

I do believe, — ‘help Thou my unbelief !’” 


THE LAST WITNESS OF A MISSION 
TRAGEDY . 

March 10, 1875, died at Santa Cruz, 
California, an Indian ranchero , or 
herdsman, named Justiniano Roxas, 
aged 128 years, whose last days were 
made comfortable by the Sisters of Charity 
of St. Vincent de Paul, aided by the county. 

Roxas remembered when the first Fran- 
ciscan Missionaries touched the shores of 
California, and he was present at the murder 
of Padre Andreas Quintana by the Indians 
at Santa Cruz, in the year 1812. 

Justiniano’s extraordinary age is vouched 
for by Very Rev. Father Adam, Vicar-Gen- 
eral of the diocese of Los Angeles and Mon- 
terey, who, in 1890, copied from the Mission 
Records, this certificate : 



“ On the 4th of March, 1792, in this church 
( 92 ) 


LAST WITNESS OF A MISSION TRAGEDY. 93 

of this Mission of Santa Cruz, I solemnly 
baptize a man of about 40 years of age, be- 
longing to a ranche,* whom I name Justin- 
iano Iioxas. His godfather was Franceasa 
Flores. “ Fr. Isidora Salazar.” 

These facts, and others, which we are 
about to relate, concerning this last witness 
of the martyrdom, or sacrilegious murder of 
poor Father Quintana, have been furnished 
us by a good Sister of Charity at St. Joseph’s 
Academy, Emmittsburg, Md., who obtained 
them directly from Very Rev. Father Adam, 
and from an old Santa Cruzian (one of her 
own Sisterhood) at Los Angeles, California. 

In the year 1812, on a certain eventful day, 
one of the two Franciscan priests stationed at 
the Mission of Santa Cruz, had gone to 
Monterey on business ; and Father Andreas 
Quintana remained alone in the house. 

During the night, he was treacherously de- 
coyed into the darkness on the pretext of at- 
tending a sick call, and on his way back to 

*A large farm where cattle are raised. 


94 LAST WITNESS OF A MISSION TRAGEDY. 

the Mission, he was seized by five Indians, 
who had concealed themselves in a wayside 
ambush. 

They dragged him into the adjoining 
orchard, to the foot of a pear tree. 

The poor Father, seeing their murderous 
designs, begged and pleaded for his life, and 
even promised to leave the place and go to 
Spain. 

They would not listen, however, telling 
him they feared he might repent and return, 
and they preferred he should go to Heaven 
then and there. 

So they hanged him to the pear tree, 
which (may here be mentioned) withered im- 
mediately ! 

When he had expired, they took him down, 
carried him to his room, and laid him on his 
bed. 

In the morning, the boy who usually 
served the Mass, wondered the Father was 
so late. After waiting some time, he called 
the Major Domo, or Steward, who went to 


LAST WITNESS OF A MISSION TRAGEDY. 95 

the room, and saw the Padre on his couch, 
apparently sleeping. 

“We will wait a little longer before call- 
ing him,” he said to the boy. 

After half an hour or so, he went again to 
the bedside, and found Padre Quintana cold 
and dead. He sent immediately for the 
other Franciscan who had gone to Monterey. 

All supposing the good Padre had died 
from apoplexy, or like natural causes, he 
was buried without delay at one side of the 
altar in the church. 

Later, something occurred to arouse the 
suspicions of the Alcalde , or Governor, who 
ordered the body to be exhumed, and found 
that the missionary had died from strangm 
lation. 

His Excellency wished to investigate, and, 
if possible, discover the perpetrators of this 
outrage ; but the other Father said : “ No ; 

leave them to God, who will find and punish 
them in His own time.” 

Some years after, the Major Domo (men- 


96 LAST WITNESS OF A 3IISSI0N TRAGEDY. 

tioned above), went to a distant ranche be- 
longing to the Mission, to look after cattle. 
This ranche was near the seacoast. There 
were several Indians along with him, who 
talked in their own tongue, which they sup- 
posed he did not understand, as he always 
spoke to them in Spanish. 

He lay down to rest, while they prepared 
the dinner. He feigned sleep, and, being off 
their guard, they talked of the night they 
killed Padre Quintana, going into all the de- 
tails of the murder. 

Finally, one of them said : “ This Major 

Domo has not been very kind to us. I think 
we should serve him the same way ! 

To which all agreed. 

In a short time, they called their intended 
victim to dinner ; but he made an excuse. 
He could not eat just yet : he would first take 
a sea- bath to get up an appetite. 

So, skilfully disguising his horror and 
dread of these sacrilegious ruffians, he 
strolled leisurely down to the beach. 


LAST WITNESS OF A MISSION TRAGEDY. 97 

Once under cover of the cliffs (which are 
marvels of beauty, honey-combed, as they 
are, into arches and caves, into which the 
tide rushes with sonorous echoes), he ran for 
dear life until he had distanced, by a long 
stretch, his murderous companions. 

On the road, he was fortunate enough to 
catch a horse, and mounting, he rode post- 
haste to Santa Clara, where he gave informa- 
tion to the authorities. 

The assassins were caught ; but again, the 
Franciscan Father at Santa Cruz interposed, 
and begged that the criminals be left in the 
hands, and to the justice, of the Almighty. 

His plea was granted. Almost immedi- 
ately, all five were stricken with leprosy, and 
soon after, with the exception of one , died 
impenitent. 

The body of their victim, poor Padre 
Quintana, had been duly buried within the 
precincts of the Mission Church, and an 
entry made in tbe old Franciscan records of 

the exact spot. 

7 


98 LAST WITNESS OF A MISSION TRAGEDY. 

Years rolled on, and the Mission of Santa 
Cruz, like all the others of California, (save 
that of Santa Barbara “ the Beautiful ”) was 
secularized. 

Some thirty years ago, the old adobe Mis- 
sion Church falling into ruins, was demol- 
ished to give way to a new frame structure. 
Father Adam, then pastor of Santa Cruz, 
guided by the Franciscan records, sought 
and found the remains of the murdered 
priest. 

Alas ! few were the relics that survived 
of Padre Andreas Quintana — a small piece 
of his religious habit — his crucifix and beads. 
One grain of the latter lies before us as we 
write, attached by a bit of white ribbon to 
the letter of the good Sister of Charity who 
furnished us these details. It is white and 
polished as ivory — -a revered relic of the old 
California Missions, if not of one of their 
holy martyrs. 

Justiniano Roxas — the last witness of 
(mayhap actual participant in) the dreadful 


LAST WITNESS OF A MISSION TRAGEDY. 99 

tragedy of Santa Cruz — for some inscrutable 
reason was detained by God in the flesh for 
nearly a century and a quarter. 

Twenty years ago, he died in the faith in 
St. Vincent’s holy house, and was given 
Christian burial by Very Rev., Father Adam 
in the New Cemetery of Santa Cruz. 


THE FATE OF CHARLOTTE RUSSE. 


Being a little maiden’s thrilling account of the tragedy 
of an Easter Dinner. 

{ mamma to my papa said, 

“ To-day, the Lenten season ends. 5 * 
My papa to my mamma said, 
“To-night, my love, we’ll dine 
some friends. 



“ Some soup and fish we’ll have,” he said ; 

“ A roast duck, and, perhaps, a goose.” 

“ Some wine and fruit,” my mamma said, 

“ And then a little Charlotte Russe.” 

“ A Charlotte Russe ! ” With great delight 
I told it to my doll : “ Dear Pearl, 

Before we go to bed, to-night, 

We’ll see this little stranger girl ; 

( 100 ) 


THE FATE OF CHARLOTTE RUSSE. 101 


“ This lovely little stranger girl 

With all her frills and flounces spruce ; 

I long to meet her ! Darling Pearl, 

I’m sure you’ll dote on Charlotte Russe ! ” 

So, after while, when all was calm, 

And Nursey busy with her broom, 

I took my dolly on my arm 

And stole down to the dining-room. 

My ! how the waxen lights did shine ! 

The guests had finished all the goose, 

And some were taking fruits and wine, 
/looked around for Charlotte Russe ! 

But there was only papa there, 

And Mr. Black, and Mr. Brown, 

And Mr. Gray, of Grayville Square ; 

And Mr. Green, of Greenwich town. 

You may be sure my face got red ; 

I pulled my sash till it came loose, 

Then crept up close to pa, and said, — 
“Please, papa, where is Charlotte Russe?” 


102 THE FATE OF CHARLOTTE RUSSE. 

Old Mr. Black, he sat and smiled 
At Mr. Green and Mr. Gray 
And Mr. Brown said, “ Bless the child ! 
The cakes have all been taken away ! ” 

But papa pressed me to his side, 

And whispered, “ Shame ! you little puss ! 
Then rolling up his eyes, he cried, 

“ Weve gone and eaten Charlotte Russe! 

Oh ! then they laughed a horrid laugh, — 
Those nasty, greedy, cruel men ! 

No little girl was ever half 

So awful scared as I was then ! 

I ran with dolly from the room, — 

My tears, I think, would fill a cup. 

O wasn’t it a dreadful doom ? 

Poor little Charlotte eaten up ! 

“ We’ll keep as still as any mouse ! ” 

I said to Pearl, “ No one’s about ; 

There’s been a murder in this house, 

And mamma hasn’t found it out ! ” 


THE FATE OF CHARLOTTE RUSSE. 103 


Oil ! dear ; I don’t know what to do ! 

I’d ask my nurse, but where’s the use ? 

My pa will surely eat me , too, 

When he’s di — gest — ed Charlotte Russe ! 


A VISITOR FROM PURGATORY. 


A TRUE STORY. 

I FT was my own dear friend who saw it and 
who, herself, told me all about it. In- 
L deed, I have often stood upon the very 
^ spot in her sitting-room where the awful 
messenger came to her; and I can testify 
that she was neither superstitious, nor mad, 
nor melancholy, but a well-instructed Catho- 
lic of cheerful nature and strong, well-bal- 
anced mind. She was, in short, too intelli- 
gent, too practical, too truthful to fancy or 
invent the incident recorded here. 

A native of one of our Middle States, she 
(you may call her Mrs. Clifford) was early 
married and settled in a far Western terri- 
tory. 

Her only brother, a wild, but well mean- 
ing young fellow, had died just before the 
( 104 ) 


A VISITOR FROM PURGATORY. 


105 


birth of her first child. She mourned him 
sincerely, and gave her baby his name; but, 
in the happy seclusion of her frontier home, 
connubial cares and the delights of mother- 
hood soon absorbed her thoughts and di- 
verted her sadness. 

Many months passed away. 

My friend was alone in her sitting-room, 
one sunny morning, nursing her babe. In 
peaceful content she reclined in a large easy- 
chair, holding the child upon her breast. 

Presently, her maidservant came in from 
the kitchen for instructions on some house- 
hold matter. She was an excellent, steady 
girl ; less a servant than companion in those 
western wilds and primitive days, when 
“ help,” being hard to get, and still harder 
to keep, enjoyed many privileges. 

Mrs. Clifford talked pleasantly to her of 
everyday affairs. Some merry conceit arose 
in their chat, and mistress and maid laughed 
heartily together over their little joke. 

The laugh froze suddenly upon Mrs. Clif- 


106 


A VISITOR FRO 31 PURGATORY. 


ford’s lips — her eyes dilated wildly — her face 
grew ashen pale ! 

There, in the broad daylight, between her 
and her smiling servant, had risen up a dread- 
ful apparition ! 

It was only a few feet from her chair — the 
ghastly spectre of a young man in his grave- 
clothes, with patches of earth-mold upon his 
beard and shroud ! 

His face was turned full upon her — such a 
livid, anxious, wistful face, quivering with a 
strange sorrow. 

Merciful heaven ! could it be ? Yes, yes, 
— she could not doubt it ; the strong, morn- 
ing light shone upon every feature, and she 
knew it to be the familiar face of her only 
brother, who had died months before, and 
been buried more than a thousand miles 
away ! 

His gray lips moved, but made no sound. 
What need was there, forsooth, of lips or 
tongue when those terrible, glittering eyes 
told her all he had to say ? 


A VISITOR FROM PURGATORY. 107 

The message was flashed upon her brain, as 
the lightning-stroke imprints its fiery images 
upon certain victims. 

“ I died in debt,” said that piercing look. 
“ Eternal light and rest cannot be mine until 
Dr. Blank ” (a physician she had known well 
in the old days at home), “ has been paid the 
five dollars I owe him for attendance. See 
to it, my sister ! ” . . . 

“ Oh ! Mrs. Clifford ! what is the mat- 
ter ? ” cried the affrighted maid. 

But her mistress heard or saw nothing 
more. With a groan, she had fallen back in 
her chair in a dead faint. 

Summoned by the girl’s frantic screams, 
the master of the house rushed to the rescue. 
Restoratives were used, Mrs. Clifford was re- 
covered from her swoon, and then the gen- 
tleman talked learnedly of hysteria, and the 
nervous exhaustion incident to nursing a 
large, heavy infant. 

But his wife remained grave, pale and 
silent. 


108 


A VISITOR FRO 31 PURGATORY. 


At her first opportunity, despite Mr. C.’s 
raillery, she wrote to Dr. Blank : “ Is the 

name of upon your books? If so, 

please let me know amount of indebtedness. ,, 

After several anxious, prayerful days, the 
physician’s reply came back: “Your brother 
owed me five dollars for medical attendance. 
I enclose receipted bill.” 

Mrs. Clifford promptly satisfied the debt, 
and had Masses offered for the repose of the 
faithful departed. 

Her brother’s spirit visited her no more ; 
and she piously hoped that, freed from its 
fiery fetters, it had been admitted to the so- 
ciety of all the saints — of that “great multi- 
tude which no man can number, of all nations 
and tribes and peoples and tongues, standing 
before the throne and in sight of the Lamb, 
clothed with white robes and palms in their 
hands .... who are come out of great tribu- 
lation, and have washed their robes and have 
made them white in the blood of the Lamb.” 


NINA'S CHOICE. 


I guess what Nina said ! ” 
Whispered Bella in my ear, 
ill the while, with drooping 
head, 

Little Nina lingered near) : — 

“ Only guess, — ’twas not in fun, — 

But if she should ever wed, 

It must be a Prince, — the son 

Of a King ; — that’s what she said ! ” 

Nina’s head was lifted now, 

In her pure, clear eyes the light 
Of a virgin soul ; her brow 

Like a snowdrop meek and white. 

All the little face was sealed 
With the signet of the King; 

Naught that earth could ever yield 

O’er that face its spell might fling. 

( 109 ) 



110 


NINA’S CHOICE. 


Round the child my arm was cast, 
Closer drew her to my side : 

“ Ah ! God grant it, love, at last 
That thou be a Prince’s Bride ! 

“ That thou plight thy virgin vows 
With a Heart which changeth never 
Then, indeed, thou’lt be the spouse 
Of a Prince who reigns forever ! ” 


LITTLE DOMENICA' S VISION. 


EARLY four hundred years ago, little 
Domenica lived in an Italian village 
called Paradise, near Florence. 

She was very poor, and very pious. 
From her babyhood, she was devoted to our 
Blessed Mother Mary. She denied herself 
some food every day of the week in honor of 
our Lady; and every .Saturday, after giving 
to the poor the victuals she had saved in this 
way, she went into the garden, or the fields 
around her home, and plucked all the flowers 
she could find. These she placed before a 
statue of the Blessed Virgin with the Holy 
Infant in her arms, which her mother kept in 
their house. 

When Domenica was about ten years old 
a very strange thing happened to her. 

She sat one Sunday at the window, alone 
in the front room, near the little shelf where 
the statues stood. 



(ill) 


112 


LITTLE DOMENICA' S VISION. 


Looking out, she saw a beautiful Woman 
in the street with a little Child at her side. 

Both held up their hands to her, as if to 
ask for an alms. 

The little girl ran away to get them some 
bread ; but, to her surprise, before she could 
open the door to give it to them, they stood 
beside her, and she saw that there were deep 
red wounds in the hands, feet, and side of 
the Child. 

“ Oh ! tell me,” she said to the beautiful 
Woman, “ who has wounded this Child? ” 

“ It was Love,” answered the mother. 

Domenica was puzzled at the strange 
words. The little Boy so charmed her with 
His sweet and lovely face and His modest 
looks, that she asked Him tenderly : 

“ Do your wounds pain you ? ” 

He only answered with a smile. 

Near them, stood the images of Jesus and 
Mary on the little shelf. 

The strange Woman turned to Domenica, 
and asked : 


LITTLE DOMENICA ’S VISION. 113 

“Why do you crown these statues with 
flowers ? ” 

“ Because I love Jesus and Mary whom 
they represent,” she replied. 

“ And how much do you love them ? ” 

“ I love them as much as I can,” said 
Domenica. 

“ And how much can you love them ? ” 
urged the Stranger. 

“ As much as they will help me ! ” was 
the answer. 

“ Go on loving them, Domenica,” said the 
beautiful Woman ; “ They will richly return 
your love in Paradise ! ” 

Then young Domenica began to smell a 
delicious, heavenly odor; and she found that 
it came forth from the wounds of the little 
Boy. 

“ What is that lovely ointment you have 
put upon His hands and feet?” she asked 
the Woman. “Can I buy some of it, and 
what will I have to give for it? ” 

“That ointment,” replied the Woman: 

8 


114 LITTLE DOMENICA' S VISION. 

“can be bought only with faith and good 
works ! ” 

Domenica all at once remembered the 
bread she held in her hands. Her visitors 
were so charming that she had forgotten the 
food she meant to give them. She offered 
it to them now. 

The mother looked tenderly down at her 
little Boy : 

“ My son’s food is love” (she said) : “ Tell 
him you love Jesus, and he will be content.” 

At the word “ Love” the strange Child 
began to smile, and give signs of the greatest 
joy. Turning to Domenica, he asked: 

“How much do you love Jesus?” 

“ I love Him so much,” she answered, 
“ that, day and night, I am always thinking 
about Him. I wish for nothing else but to 
please Him as much as I can ! ” 

“Well, love Him,” he said: “and Love 
will teach you what you must do to please 
Him.” 

The exquisite perfume from the Boy’s 


LITTLE DOMENICA'S VISION. 115 

wounds began to grow stronger and stronger, 
filling the poor little room with its strange 
sweetness. 

Domenica turned faint with delight. 

‘Oh!” she cried out: “this odor makes 
me die of love ! If this little Child can 
smell so sweet, what must be the perfumes 
of heaven ? ” 

As she spoke these glad words, the whole 
scene changed ! The shabby little place be- 
came magnificent as a palace-hall. In its 
midst, surrounded with dazzling light, stood 
the strange Woman dressed in a Queen’s 
splendid robes. Her Boy was beside her, 
beautiful beyond description, glorious as the 
unclouded sun in the splendor of the noon- 
day sky. 

With His little shining fingers, He caught 
up the flowers from Domenica’s altar, and 
scattered them on her head. 

Then she knew, at last, who the Strangers 
really were. 

Jesus and Mary had come to visit her 


116 


LITTLE DOMENICA'S VISION. 


in her humble little home, to reward her, 
even here, for her self-denying love of Christ 
and His Virgin Mother. 

In a few moments, the wonderful Vision 
had vanished; but Domenica never forgot it. 

She went on, as she had begun, a simple, 
humble, innocent soul, loving our Blessed 
Lord and His Mother with all her heart and 
all her strength, and trying to please and 
serve them more and more faithfully and 
perfectly every day of her life. 

The great St. Alphonsus Lignori tells us 
this story, and he tells us also that the holy 
little maiden afterwards became a nun of the 
Order of St. Dominic, and that, after a life 
spent in “ faith and good works,” she died 
the death of a saint in the year of our Lord, 
1553. 


FRA MOSES AND TEE FLOWERS. 


HRO’ the convent garden, 
Paced the gray-hair’d Friar, 
Brow and eye a-sparlde 
With divinest fire ; 

Right and left, the flowers 
Raised their charming faces, 

Drench’d with dewy showers, 

Rich with fragrant graces. 

Right and left, Fra Moses 

Waved his staff and muttered, 

(Just as tho* the roses 

Sweet reproaches uttered) : 

“ Cease your soft complainings, 

True and tender teachers ! 

Hush your meek upbraidings, 

Pure and pious preachers ! 



( 117 ) 


118 FRA MOSES AND THE FLOWERS. 


“ Yes, I know, ye tell me 
Men are all ungrateful ; 

Great, (since ye compel me) 
Are our sins, and hateful ! 

“Well I know God made you 
Out of pure affection 

For our souls — arrayed you 
Thus, for our delection ! 

“ Cease your soft complainings, 
True and tender teachers ! 

Hush your meek upbraidings, 
Pure and pious preachers I 

“ Ravish’d by the beauty, 
Godlike, in you glowing,— 

We shall do our duty 
With a zeal o’erflowing ! 

“ We shall let the splendor 
Of your shining faces 

Be an image tender 
Of sublimest graces ! 


FRA MOSES AND THE FLOWERS. 


“ Crown this life of ours 

With Love’s brave endeavor ! 
Yea, (like you,) sweet flowers ! 
Make us God’s — forever ! ” 


THE QUEEN'S ROSARY. 

Founded on Fact. 


W T was in the early part of the thirteenth 
! century ; and while the King of France 
„ held his court at Poissy. 

Night had fallen ; and in one of the 
rooms of the palace, near the servant’s quar- 
ters, a number of retainers were gathered 
around a white-robed Friar. 

His pale, ascetic face glowed with zeal, 
and his dark eyes sparkled with the fire of 
divine love. 

Now, he spake words of counsel, instruc- 
tion, to one ; again, he gravely rebuked an- 
other ; now, tenderly consoled the drooping 
spirit of a third. And, as each received the 
message of life, he knelt at the monk’s feet, 
craved a blessing, and withdrew. 

When all were gone, and Friar Dominic 

(for the great St. Dominic it was), stood 
( 120 ) 


THE QUEEN’S EOSARY. 121 

alone, absorbed in prayer — the door was 
pushed gently open, and a lady entered. 

A dark veil was drawn over her head and 
face, and a long, black mantle covered her 
from throat to feet. She was slender, but 
of a stately step and imposing presence. 

“ What would’st thou, my daughter ? ” 
questioned Friar Dominic, as she stood be- 
fore him (a silent mystery), with bowed 
head, and hands folded in her cloak. 

“Father!” she faltered in a low, rich 
voice : “ I come to beg your blessing — your 

fervent prayers ; — to ask you to remember 
in the adorable Sacrifice of the altar, a child- 
less wife who implores heaven for a son and 
heir ! ” 

“ Courage and hope, my daughter ! ” said 
the monk gently. “Have recourse to our 
Lady of the Divine Maternity ; beseech her 
and her Holy Child to hear and grant thy 
prayer. Hast thou our Mother’s Beads ? ” 

“ That have I ! ” cried the lady joyfully ; 
but, even as she strove to loosen a hidden 


122 THE QUEEN’S ROSARY . 

something from her girdle, the long, black 
mantle that enveloped her, slipped from her 
shoulders and fell around her feet, leaving 
her revealed in a robe of azure satin strewn 
with seed pearls, and glittering with golden 
embroidery ! 

Diamonds flashed like dewdrops on her 
bosom ; and her arms and hands sparkled 
with precious gems. 

The rosary, which she still strove to de- 
tach from her girdle, was a string of blood- 
red rubies linked with a golden chain — rarer 
even than the priceless chaplet of the Lady 
Godiva in the abbey-church of Coventry. 

“ Who art thou, woman ? ” demanded 
Father Dominic, almost sternly. 

And, throwing back her veil, and laying 
bare her fair, noble face, the lady fell on her 
knees before his feet, and answered humbly : 

“ Blanche of Castile, your Reverence, 
who implores of heaven for the throne of 
France, an heir according to the heart of 
God ! ” 


THE QUEEN'S ROSARY. 123 

“ Rise, noble queen ! ” cried the astounded 
monk : “ and put thy trust in our Virgin 
Mother and her holy Rosary. Recite daily 
these blessed Beads for thy intention, and 
engage every pious soul in thy kingdom to 
do the same. And behold ! in God’s good 
time, the fruit of benediction shall be 
thine ! ” 

******* 

Bonfires were blazing in the streets of 
Poissy one happy night in the year of our 
Lord, 1215 — cannons thundering and joy- 
bells ringing. 

The palace windows were glittering with 
lights, and the priests sang Te Deum in the 
court-chapel; for lo ! in one darkened and 
quiet chamber, the lovely Queen Blanche lay 
upon her couch clasping to her breast, in 
speechless gratitude, her firstborn son. 

Fruit of Dominic’s Holy Rosary, chosen 
child of the Virgin Mother of God, Louis 
IX. had entered this world of sin, which he 


124 


THE QUEEN'S ROSARY. 


was to quit as a saint — had come to a crown 
which he was to consecrate everlastingly to 
Mary — a throne, which he was to adorn with 
every natural gift and Christian virtue ! 


OUR LADY OF THE CRIB. 


Suggested by a French Picture. 

EEK Madonna of the Orlche ! * 
Mother, mute with awe! 

In the Crib, the word made 

FLESH 

Lies upon the straw. 

Thou hast dreamed of that sweet Face, 
Hour after hour, 

Now, it blooms in thine embrace, 

Like a fresh blown Flower. 

Now, the tiny dimpled form, 

Pink as any rose, 

Thou dost gently strive to warm 
With Its swaddling-clothes. 



* Creche is the French word for manger or crib. 

( 125 ) 


126 OUR LADY OF THE CRIB . 

Joseph kneels where, left and right, 
Bow the wond’ring beasts. 

Angels bright on wings of light, 

Hail the Feast of feasts ! 

Come the Shepherds and their sheep 
Down to Bethlehem. — 

Dearest Lady of the Crib ! 

Soon shall follow them 

Royal Wise Men from the East, 
Mystic myrrh to bring, 
Frankincense for Christ the Priest, 
Gold for Christ the King. 

Let us, too, without demur, 

Babe ! (so long foretold,) 

Bring Thee now our mystic myrrh, 
Frankincense and gold. 

Let us, too, O Word made Flesh ! 

Greet Thy Birthday dear, 

Sweet Madonna of the Creche, 

Bless our bright New Year ! 


NANNIE'S CURE. 


ANNIE KAY was a sweet little blonde 
darling of three summers. She was 
not only the daughter and grand- 
daughter of two well-known Phila- 
delphia physicians, but also a favorite child 
of our Blessed Mother, to whose service she 
was early dedicated. 

When about a year old, she was cured of 
a serious illness by the Water of Lourdes, 
after having been given up by the attending 
physician ; and we wish now to tell you of 
a later and remarkable favor, granted her 
through the same holy means. 

In September, 1882, four-year-old Nannio 
was staying with her mother and nurse at a 
t popular bathing place on the New Jersey 
coast. 

There, one evening, the child met with an 
alarming accident. 



( 127 ) 


128 


NANNIE'S CURE. 


Her good old nurse holding a candle too 
near her crib, set fire to the mosquito-bars 
stretched over it ; and before the flames 
could be put out, Nannie was badly burned 
upon her lower limbs. 

Her father, Dr. Robert Kay, and two other 
physicians, summoned hastily to her aid, did 
all they could to help the little sufferer. But 
blisters as large as good-sized peaches rose 
upon the delicate limbs, and from the knees, 
down even to the little toes, required careful 
dressing several times a day. 

The accident occurred on a Wednesday 
evening. By the following Saturday, the 
flesh had mortified upon one limb, becoming 
deeply discolored, and offensive both to sight 
and smell. 

The head physician, Dr. McC , a skilful 

Philadelphia practitioner, declared that the 
child could not escape being crippled by the 
contraction of the muscles ; and it was said 
that she would be unable to walk at all for 
about two months to come. 


NANNIE’S CUBE. 


129 


Nannie’s young mother, (a French lady, 
of most enlightened and tender piety), re- 
membering the signal cure wrought before 
by the Blessed Virgin in behalf of the little 
sufferer, sent at once for a bottle of the 
Water of Lourdes. 

It arrived on Sunday morning, and the 
lady and her pious husband immediately ap- 
plied the wonderful water to the child’s 
limbs, reciting at the same time, no less than 
eighty 44 Hail Marys.” 

At noon of the same day, Dr. McC 

came to dress the burns. On opening the 
bandages, the physician (a non-Catholic) de- 
clared his extreme astonishment at the favor- 
able change which had taken place since 
morning in the appearance of the limbs. 

“This is extraordinary!” he ejaculated: 
“ What have you been doing to her ? ” 

By Sunday night, the dark color of the 
mortified flesh had almost disappeared, and 
the entire change was a marked and 

miraculous one. 

9 


130 


NANNIE’S CUBE. 


In the space of about three weeks after the 
accident, little Nannie, far from being a 
cripple, was running about, blithe and busy 
as a bird, enchanting all with her bright 
ways, and winning, old-fashioned piety. 

“ Who cured you, Nannie ? ” friends would 
ask. 

“Blessed Virgie, — Watie of Lourdes!” 
was the unvarying reply of the favored little 

darling. And when Dr. McC held up 

before her childish gaze a number of bright 
new coins, and said to her, merrily : 

“ Say it was Dr. McC who cured you, 

Nannie, and I will give you these gold dol- 
lars ; ” — the staunch little client of our Lady 
replied, in spite of the glittering temptation : 
“No; Blessed Virgie, — Watie of Lourdes, 
cured me ! ” 

Dear Angel ! pet lamb of the Holy Mother 
of God ! — Nannie was early called to nestle 
forever at Her feet, — 

“ The children’s place in heaven.” 

Early called to be one of those to whom our 


NANNIE'S CUKE. 


131 


tender Mother Mary (as Adelaide Proctor 
says), 

“ Softly sings 

A little chant to please them, soft and sweet, 

Or smiling, strokes their little folded wings ; 

Or gives them her white lilies or her beads 
To play with.” 

When our little maid was about seven 
years old, a small girl-friend in her neighbor- 
hood was sick, and had to stay indoors. The 
child’s mother asked Nannie to come over 
and play with her friend. 

Nannie went. 

“ O mamma ! ” she cried, when she came 
back some hours later : “ Fanny’s face was 
as red as fire, and she said she had a dread- 
ful sore throat ! ” 

Alas ! the neighbor’s child had Scarlet 
Fever ! 

Fanny’s thoughtless or selfish mother had 
left the children together for hours, and 
poor little Nannie’s fate was sealed. 

Fever, headache, sore throat soon set in ; 
and in a few weeks’ time, a small white 


132 


NANNIE’S CUBE. 


coffin stood in Dr. Kay's darkened parlor, 
and in it lay the lovely little Nannie, like a 
white marble statue, half-covered with snowy 
flowers. 

As the weeping mother was lighting the 
blessed candles around her child’s bier, and 
laying the holy beads in the little cold 
fingers, a neighbor whispered : 

“ Nannie was seven years old — and so 
wise ! She was old enough to commit sin. 
Have you any fears, Mrs. Kay, for her sal- 
vation ? ” 

“ None ! ” cried the mother with a passion- 
ate kiss on Nannie’s icy brow. “ From the 
time my little girl was able to speak, every 
day of her short life, she has offered all her 
actions to God. I taught her to do this; 
and now , I feel sure the Good Shepherd has 
gathered my white lamb into His sacred 
bosom, and that He will hide her there for- 
ever and forever ! ” 


THE BIRDS AND THE GUARDIAN 
ANGELS. 


WN the house of the Guardian Angel. 

<11 In Boston’s storied town, 

1 1 In the playroom of the children, 

^ Golden, and green and brown. 

The birds swing in their cages, 

(Cages of mammoth size,) 

Tended by boyish fingers, 

Gladdened by boyish eyes. 

And sweet they sing — those fairies, 

Those winged things of light, 

Sweet sing the dear canaries, 

From morning until night. 

“Praise God!” (they chant) “and thank Him 
For all His mercies rare ! 

And may He bless our Orphan Boys, 

Who keep us in their care ! ” 


( 133 ) 


134 THE BIRDS AND THE GUARDIAN ANGELS. 


The while the chorus rises 

From many a feather’d throat, 

While love and warm thanksgiving 
Tremble in every note ; 

Response, sublimely glorious, 

(As from a double choir), 

Rings from the Guardian Angels, 

In strains of mystic fire. 

The Angels keeping watch and ward 
O’er Boston’s Orphan Boys, 

Soothers of all their childish woes, 
Sharers of all their joys — 

They sing : “ Praise God and thank Him 
For all His mercies rare ! 

And bless the Brothers, good and true, 
Who keep you in their care ! ” 


LITTLE VESTRY AND THE WHITE 
SCAPULAR. 


E had “ shined ” his last pair of boots 
just before he turned the corner of 
an up-town street ; and then he came 
upon a big church with a cross upon 
its steeple. 

It was a warm September night, and the 
doors were wide open. A flood of light 
poured from the brilliant altars, and many 
voices were chanting a sweet Latin hymn. 

He was a queer wise-looking little fellow, 
this brown-faced, grave-eyed Italian boot- 
black. “Vestry” was the street contraction 
of his full, musical name, Vito Vestrizzio ; 
and the boys said it just suited him — he was 
so fond of serving Mass at the Italian church 
down town. 

Far off m beautiful Genoa, his good old 

grandmother (who had reared him) had 

( 135 ) 



136 VESTRY AND THE WHITE SCAPULAR. 

taught him his prayers and Catechism, and 
trained him thoroughly in his religion. 

She had often said to him : “ Never pass 
the church, jiglio mio , without going in to say 
one Ave Maria that you may die in the grace 
of God.” 

He remembered it now, and went in. 

The church was full of people, and Vestry, 
slipping into a back pew, laid his “ kit ” on 
the floor. By this time, a priest was preach- 
ing before a shrine where the picture of a 
lovely Madonna and Child was set among 
banks of lilies and blazing tapers. 

Vestry could not understand all he said, 
but he caught enough to know that he was 
urging everybody to love Mary, to seek her 
counsel, to imitate her virtues. 

When the sermon was over, men, women 
and children flocked to the altar-rail ; and 
the priest began to give each one a little 
white Scapular. Vestry longed to go up and get 
one with the rest, but felt afraid to venture. 

And then a wonderful thing happened. 


VESTRY AND TEE WHITE SCAPULAR. 137 

A beautiful young lady near him handed 
him a Scapular and, smiling, motioned him 
to approach the altar. 

She wore a white gown, and her sweet, 
rosy face was shaded by a white leghorn hat 
with snowy plumes. Vestry thought she 
must be an angel, and silently obeyed her. 

In a few moments, he was kneeling before 
the lovely shrine, and the priest had thrown 
the ribbons of the White Scapular around 
his neck. 

The poor little boot-black felt strangely 
peaceful and happy. He even shed some 
tears of joy, thinking tenderly of the dear 
old grandmother at home. He would write 
to her. She would be glad to know that her 
ragazzino had kept himself from the low vices 
of the streets, and was wearing our Lady’s 
Scapular. 

Was it an hour afterwards (or was it only 
ten minutes ?) that he was crossing the street 
on his way down town ? 

What a crowd was gathering ! A voice 


138 VESTRY AND THE WHITE SCAPULAR. 

cried “ Fire ! ” — and a patrol wagon dashed 
with furious speed around a corner. 

The by-standers heard a shrill scream of 
agony, and with blanched faces, rushed to 
lift from the cobble* stones a poor, crushed, 
bleeding little shape with a boot-black’s 
“ kit ” slung across its shoulders, and a small 
white something fluttering on its breast ! 

There was a priest in the accident-ward of 
the State Hospital. He had just given the 
last Sacraments to a dying patrolman ; and, 
as he passed to the door between a row of 
beds, he saw on one of them a little ghastly 
chap, so blood-stained and bandaged, that he 
looked like a small wounded soldier. 

The priest stooped and read on the chart 
at the bed-head : “ Vestry, a boot-black , aged 
12 ; compound fracture of etc., etc. — contusion 
of etc., etc. Supposed to be mulatto. Resi- 
dence unknown^ 

From the pillow, a queer little foreign face 
stared up at him, old-fashioned as a brownie’s 


VESTRY AND THE WHITE SCAPULAR. 139 

— but with a soft reverence in the velvety 
eyes. 

Could the child be a Catholic ? As if in 
answer to the mental query, the poor little 
lad thrust his one sound hand into his bosom j 
and drew tremblingly forth — a White Scap- 
ular of Our Lady of Good Counsel ! 

“ Madonna mia ! ” he whispered feebly. 

The priest fell on his knees beside him. 
He had studied in Rome, and spoke Italian 
fluently. Oh ! the radiant rapture of the 
little face when Vestry heard the music of 
his own tongue, and breathed forth his con- 
fession in the embrace of those strong but 
tender arms. 

The absolution was pronounced — the Holy 
Viaticum administered ; and through it all, 
the little Genoese held fast to his Scapular. 

“ It is a piece of Blessed Mother’s mantle,” 
he answered quaintly, when the priest asked 
him why he loved it ; and then, “ Is Ma- 
donna Mary very beautiful? And shall I 
see her soon, Padre mio ? Ah ! yes,” he 


140 VESTRY AND THE WHITE SCAPULAR. 

sighed, wandering a little : “ I am thy child, 
good Mother ! I shall always wear thy scap- 
ular ” — (making an effort to lift it to his 
lips) — “ take me ” 

There was an odd catch in the breath, his 
head drooped, and a gray shadow crossed his 
face. 

“ Died of shock,” said a passing surgeon. 

But there was a tear on the priest’s cheek 
as he closed the boy’s wide-open lids over 
that look of admiration and awe as at the 
sudden sight of something astoundingly new 
and lovely. 

“ His eyes have seen the Queen in her 
beauty ! ” he murmured ; and then, rever- 
ently laid back the little White Scapular 
upon the dead child’s breast. 


SEVEN COUSINS. 


|| OLDEN-HAIRED KATE and dark 

Ullltk Adele, 

J| Helen blonde and Helen brunette, 
The two sweet Carolines, (loved so 
well,) 

And baby Constance, the blue-eyed pet : 


Rarer and fairer than silver and pearls, 
Brighter and better than rubies and gold, 
Bloometh this “rosebud garden of girls,” 
Fragrant with innocence, fresh to behold ! 

God keep you, my pretties, from every woe ! 
No sin cloud your gladness, O sunny-eyed 
Seven ! 

God bless you, my beauties, and spare you to 
grow 

To fair, noble women, beloved of heaven ! 

( 141 ) 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS 


I. 

W CRAGIN was dying in her 
;le shanty up among the mines 
Kettletown. She was not an 
L woman, but as she lay upon 
her poor bed, coughing and wasting day and 
night for two years, her hair had turned gray 
and her face had grown thin and white and 
wrinkled as an old crone’s. 

To-day, she was worse than usual.* Yet, 
over in front of the fire, sat a girl rolling up 
on bits of curl-paper her long, lovely, red- 
dish-brown hair, and staring every once in a 
while, into a broken piece of looking-glass 
which she had stuck into a corner of the 
chimney-shelf. 

This was Kitty Cragin, the widow’s only 
daughter. She was a very, very pretty girl 
with rosy cheeks and bright, blue eyes, shaded 
( 142 ) 



ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 143 

by dark, curling lashes. Her teeth were 
like the grains of corn when it is new. But 
there was something queer about her smile — 
something silly or something cunning (it was 
hard to say which) which was not pleasing. 

When she had finished rolling the last of 
her curls to her satisfaction, she stood up, 
and examined closely her pretty face and fig- 
ure in the bit of broken glass. 

“ Kitty ! ” moaned the sick woman, “ has 
Larry come ? ” 

“ No, mother,” replied the girl without 
even a glance at the bed, and the white, suf- 
fering face : “ but he'll be here in a few min- 
utes. Tra-la-tra-la-tra-la ! ” she sang in a 
voice like a lark’s, as she ran to the broken 
window : “ there’s him and Dark Dick corn- 
in’ up the walk to the door.” 

“ I don’t like to hear of Dark Dick with 
Larry ! ” muttered the widow : “ he‘11 do my 
boy no good ! ” 

A fit of coughing seized her at this, and 
she was still choking and panting when a 


144 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


nice-looking young fellow with brown, curly 
hair and honest blue eyes, came in at the 
door. 

He threw his arm around Kitty and kissed 
her rosy cheek, whispering : 

“ How’s the dear old mother to-day ? ” 

“ Just the same,” said the girl carelessly ; 
adding : “ What was Dark Dick saying to 
you, Larry ? Was he talkin’ about me ? ” 
Larry did not wait to answer her. His 
mother was holding out her arms to him, her 
whole face lighted up with a wonderful love 
and longing. 

He saw at once that she was worse. He 
knelt by the poor little bed, which Kitty had 
not been at any pains to make soft or clean. 
The widow got her arms around his neck, 
gasping over and over again : “ My darlin’ 
boy ! God bless my darlin’ boy ! ” 

“Was Father Sheridan here to see you, 
mother ? ” asked Larry, tenderly. 

“ He was, my boy ; and done everything he 
could for me. Larry, dear, I’m goin’ fast ! ” 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


145 


“ Don’t talk about it, mother ! ” sobbed 
the poor young fellow. 

“But I must talk, my son,” panted the 
widow : “ there’s things I’ve got to say to 
you that can’t wait. I feared to-day I’d be 
gone before I’d spoke them ! ” 

“ What is it, mother ? What’s on your 
mind ? ” 

“ You must promise me three things before 
I die, Larry.” 

“ I’ll promise you half-a-dozen if it’ll do you 
any good,” groaned the young man, looking 
straight into her eyes, with his fine, brave, 
honest gaze a little dim with tears. 

“ Only three — only three,” gasped the dy- 
ing woman. “ First, promise me you’ll never 
give up your church — that you’ll go faithful 
to the priest, to your ‘ duty ’ ! ” 

“ I promise, mother,” whispered Larry. 

“ Second, promise me you’ll take good 
care of Kitty. Look at her smilin’ at herself 
in the glass yonder ! Ah ! she’ll miss her 

old mother’s care, my boy, for she’s wayward 

10 


146 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


— she’s a little weak here” (and the widow 
touched her forehead with her skeleton- 
finger.) “Watch over her well — keep her 
from all harm — put her to school at the Sis- 
ters’, if you can, when I am gone ! ” 

“ I promise, mother.” 

“ Last of all — ” and the dying woman 
raised herself upon her pillow with a strange, 
wild glare in her deathlike face : “ Larry, 
my darlin’ son, light of my eyes ! promise me 
you’ll never join the ‘ Shamrocks ! 

“ Don’t you know, I never would ? ” cried 
Larry indignantly. 

“ Then, swear it ! ” panted the widow. 
“ Bring your dead father’s Bible from the 
shelf, Larry, and swear upon it! They killed 
him , my boy. They lied when they said he 
fell into the ditch, and got his death. They 
hated him because he wouldn’t shoot Tom 
O’Bryan cornin’ out of church from makin’ 
the Mission — and I found the warnin’ letter 
in your father’s pocket after he was dead. 


ONE OF THE SHA 3 IR 0 CKS . 147 

Where’s the Bible, Larry? My eyes are 
gettin’ dim.” 

“ Here it is, mother.” 

“ Now, swear on it, my own darlin’ son 
Swear you’ll never join the 4 Shamrocks,’ nor 
any other oath-bound society — swear ! and 
I’ll die in peace ! ” 

Larry had hardly spoken the solemn words, 
(the tears running down his face in streams), 
when the blood burst from his mother’s lips 
like a torrent, and she fell back on the bed — 
a corpse ! 

II. 

The big shop at the crossroads had closed 
early. The setting sun shed its last rays 
Upon the large sign over the door, and gilded 
the black letters on it, which read : 

Miners’ Supplies. 

Martin O'Kelly and Co., 

There were only two clerks in the office 
inside. Both sat at desks on high stools, 


148 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


casting up figures in the big books before 
them. 

One was the head bookkeeper, Dark Dick 
Hallahan ; the other, the youngest clerk of 
the house — Larry Cragin. 

They were settling up the company's books 
for the year, and Larry had been chosen to 
help Dark Dick, because he was very quick at 
figures. (His father, Michael Cragin, had 
been the schoolmaster of Kettletown for long 
enough before his death). 

But Larry seemed dull and slow this even- 
ing. Again and again, he went up and down 
the rows of figures, without being able to 
count their sum. His brain was dizzy and 
aching, his eyes blinded with tears. 

At last, he threw away his pen — flung his 
arms upon the open ledger, and laid his head 
dejectedly down upon them. 

It was a year and a half since his mother’s 
death ; and although he had faithfully kept 
his promises to her, all had seemed to go 
wrong with him and Kitty. 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


149 


Of course, they hadn’t been able to live 
on alone at the old shanty. He had put 
Kitty at their Aunt Nancy’s, and he had 
gone to board at Dark Dick Hallahan’s. It 
was the best he could do — but it wasn’t the 
best for foolish Kitty. Aunt Nancy was one 
of those easy-going people who think young 
folks should have their fling. So Kitty was 
free to dress herself up and run about from 
house to house, to flirt and dance, and go to 
picnics and “ shin-digs,” and “ have a good 
time ” (as she called it) with every wild fel- 
low she met. 

Larry loved her with all his warm heart, 
but he could not control her ; and all day 
long at the shop, he was worrying and fret- 
ting lest harm should come to her. If he 
had better wages he could put her at the 
Sisters’ (as his dying mother had wished), 
and keep her there till she had learned some 
useful trade. But every time a good, paying 
place was vacant at O’Kelly’s, some other 
fellow who wasn’t half as quick or as steady 


150 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


as liimself was put into it, and there seemed 
no use in trying — and next Saturday was his 
day for going to Confession 

The other clerk had stopped counting, and 
was staring at the brown curly head bowed 
down upon Cragin’s desk. 

“ What’s the matter, Larry ? ” said he 
kindly. 

He was a tall, stout, broad-shouldered man, 
well-named “ Dark Dick,” for his skin was 
like a mulatto’s and his hair and eyes as 
black as ink. 

“ Is anything the matter, Cragin ? ” he 
asked again. 

“Everything’s the matter!” broke out 
Larry throwing back his head : “ there seems 
to be no luck at all for an honest lad. 
There’s that dirty little Dougherty is going 
to get Mark Murphy’s place — a raise of five 
dollars a week in his wages, and the fellow 
can’t write his own name so that the Boss 
can read it. The place ought to be mine, for 
I’ve been here these ten years — since I was 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


151 


bare fifteen — and I never got a promotion 
yet. Hallahan, if I had better wages I could 
put Kitty at the Convent ” 

“Kitty’s well enough where she is,” inter- 
rupted Dark Dick with a queer smile, as he 
quitted his stool, and came over to perch him- 
self on a corner of Larry’s desk. 

“ But, is it possible, Cragin,” he went on : 
“ that you don’t know why you are passed 
over every time, and why other fellows get 
the best places? ” 

“ Why ? ” asked Larry with wide-open eyes 
and mouth. 

“ Because you aren’t one of Us / ” whis- 
pered Hollahan. 

“One of What?” 

“Glory! but you’re green, Larry! It’s a 
wonder the cows wouldn’t eat 3^011 ! What 
else would it be but — (lowering his voice 
again) — one of the 4 Shamrocks ’ ? ” 

“Oh! I couldn’t, Dick Hallahan, I 
couldn’t ! ” — groaned Cragin hiding his face : 
“Not for all the gold and silver of the 


152 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


world — not for the dearest sister man ever 
had ! ” 

“ Not even to save her soul — to put her 
out of harm’s way in the holy Convent?” 
whispered the tempter drawing closer : “ why 
not, Larry, why not?” 

“ Because I am book-sworn to my dying 
mother ! ” cried the poor fellow with a sob 
in his throat. “ I swore on the blessed 
Bible, I’d never join a secret society.” 

“Oh! but your mother (heaven be her 
bed ! ) didn’t know that this one is for the 
good of Ireland and the holy Church. Even 
bishops and priests belong to it in some 
places, although old Father Sheridan,” (and 
Dick’s face grew several shades darker), “ is 
set dead against it. But sure, he’s a man 
that’s too queer and strict entirely. Join us, 
Larry, join us this very night, and you’ll 
have money in plenty, and the Boss, (I swear 
to you !) will give you Mark Murphy’s place 
to-morrow ! ” 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


153 


III. 

All hour later, Larry Cragin with a wild, 
hunted look on his pale face, and a desperate 
purpose in his poor heart, was knocking for 
admission at the door of a cabin out among 
the hills, near the mouth of an old, aban- 
doned mine. 

He was alone. 

Dark Dick (promising to join him later in 
the night,) had provided him with the nec- 
cessary password. 

Now, he spoke it, trembling from head to 
foot : 

“ Chosen leaf of bard and chief!” 

to which a voice made answer from the care- 
fully-opened door : 

“ Old Erins native Shamrock ! ” 

and Larry found himself forced into a small 
dirty room smelling strongly of tobacco, beer 
and whisky, and with only a glimmer of a 
candle to light it. 


154 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


In the one frightened glare he gave about 
the room, he thought he saw his Boss, O’- 
Kelly, and every man of the company, sitting 
at a table covered with papers and pipes and 
pistols. All the leading Irishmen of the 
Miners’ Shop, — of Kettletown, — in fact, he 
thought he saw through the thick tobacco- 
smoke, searching him through and through 
with their stern eyes. But, in a second, some 
one behind him had pulled a bandage across 
his face— his arms were strapped down to his 
sides — and he was hustled roughly into a 
chair. 

The hand that had blindfolded him, next 
put to his temple, a cold , hard something 
which he knew was a pistol ! 

He grew faint. Were they about to kill 
him, as they had killed his father before him ? 
Was he to die in mortal sin — with his broken 
oath blackening his lost soul ? 

“ Oh ! mother ! mother ! ” he groaned; and 
then, he could remember nothing more dis- 
tinctly — knew nothing more, until he stag- 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


155 


gered out again into the winter night with a 
purse of money in his hand and despair in 
his heart. 

His first thought was of Kitty. He had 
sinned for her sake — he must see her at once, 
and tell her to be ready to go to the Sisters’ 
in the morning. 

Half-blinded, he stumbled along the road 
to Aunt Nancy’s. 

“ They will all be in bed,” he thought, like 
a man in a dream ; “ but I’ll throw a stone 
at Kitty's window, and fetch her down to the 
door.” 

They were not in bed at Aunt Nancy’s, 
however. Every window seemed to have a 
light in it, and when Larry staggered into 
the kitchen, he found a crowd of gossips, 
men and women, gathered round the fire. 

“What ails you, Lanw Cragin?” shrieked 
his Aunt, coming out of the group to stare 
at him with wonder : “ Did you meet them 

on the road?” 

“ Meet who ? ” cried the poor, dazed, white- 


156 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


faced fellow : “ Sure it’s little Kitty that I 

want ! * 

“And sure, it’s little Kitty you will want 
for many a long day to come ! ” answered 
Nancy — her head on one side, and her hands 
on her hips. “ She’s off two hours ago with 
Dark Dick Hollahan, to he married in the 
next parish ! ” 

Oh ! then, it seemed, indeed, that the Devil 
himself roared and laughed and jeered in 
Larry Cragin’s ears ! 

“ God’s curse is on Dark Dick and on every 
man of the 4 Shamrocks ’ / ” he cried, hurling 
the purse he held into the blazing fire. 

Then, he gave one hopeless groan as if his 
heart had burst, and rushed out into the dark 
and dreary night. 

There was only one thing left for him to 
do. He was under the curse of God as well 
as the rest, and there was only one in the 
whole of Ivettletown, who could lift it from 
him. 

“O Kitty! Kitty!” he groaned: “I’ve 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


157 


lost my soul to save you, — and you’ve run oft 
with a rascal who’ll break your foolish 
heart ! ” 

* sK 5fc * 5j< 

Father Sheridan was sitting alone in his 
little study, reading his Office, when a wild, 
haggard, half-crazy fellow darted into the 
room, and fell in a swoon at his feet. 

It was some minutes before the good old 
priest could recognize with horror in the 
wretched man before him, his rosy-cheeked, 
bright-eyed favorite, Lawrence Cragin. 

The story would be too long, were we to 
tell how the holy man tended and soothed 
and strengthened that night the hapless vic- 
tim of Dark Dick’s treachery and villainy. 

After having been warmed at his pastor's 
fire, and fed at his pastor’s table, far in the 
night, the poor prodigal knelt, like a little 
child, at Father Sheridan’s side, and poured 
out his confession with many a contrite tear 
and sob. 


158 


ONE OF TEE SHAMROCKS. 


The sacred Absolution was pronounced, and 
with a promise to come to Holy Communion, 
the next morning, Larry went forth from the 
priest’s door, with a lightened soul, to finish 
the night at Aunt Nancy’s, in false-hearted 
Kitty’s empty room. 

A dark shadow followed him unseen from 
the doorstep. It came after him creeping — 
creeping — then made a sudden rush ! 

He had not gone three yards on his way ; 
yet night and life, that minute, were both 
rudely finished forever for Larry Cragin. 

******* 

When Father Sheridan was making his 
way to the Church for Mass in the darkness 
before the next day’s dawn — he stumbled 
over something large and black in the open 
road. 

He carried a lantern in his hand. Flashing 
its light to his feet, he saw there the ghastly, 
open-eyed face of the boy he loved — the boy 
he had absolved at his knee the night before, 


ONE OF THE SHAMROCKS. 


159 


the face of Lawrence Cragin, cold and fixed 
in death ! 

The road was red with his blood. 

There was a knife in his honest breast — 
and it was thrust through a bit of white 
paper with writing on it. 

The priest carried it quickly to the light ; 
and these were the words he read : 

“The Vengeance of the Shamrocks! 

Whoso ’ to the Order lies 
By the Order s dagger dies ! ” 


SEASIDE CROCUSES FOR EASTER . 


I. 

HEY peep from the scanty grass 
In the sunlight cold and pale ; 

We linger and wonder as we pass 
At the blossoms hardy and hale, 
Pushing their way through the frozen clay, 
In the teeth of an eastern gale 



II. 


And we question : “ Buds of the spring ! 

Brave-hearted buds and bright ! 

Whence had ye courage to do this thing? 

To laugh and leap to the light ; 

When the sea to-day hath a shadow gray, 
And the sea birds scream with fright?” 
( 160 ) 


SEASIDE CROCUSES FOR EASTER. 161 


III. 

“ God ealled : and we dare not hide 
Longer below ! ” they say ; 

“ There are some of us purple for Passiontide ; 

And some for the Easter Day, 

In gold and white, like the Lord of light, 
For we rise with the Christ ! ” say they. 


ll 


JOCKO. 


VER the sea, in the lovely land of Italy, 
is a queer old city named Venice. Our 
American children would think it a 
very strange place, indeed, for it is 
built upon seventy-two small islands ; and 
although it is filled with many beautiful old 
marble palaces, the streets that run past 
them are not made of brick, or stone, or clay, 
but of water , sea-water, green and clear as 
emeralds. There is not a live horse in the 
whole city ; and instead of carts, or car- 
riages, or trolley-cars, the people have to use 
boats, which are being pushed about the 
streets by long poles in the hands of gaily- 
dressed boatmen, all the day and night. 

Some of you may have seen an imitation 
of this in the grounds of the World’s Fair at 
Chicago in the year 1893, where the Gon- 
dolas (or boats) were guided along the La- 
1162) 



JOCKO. 


163 


goon, around the pretty Wooded Island. If 
you ever saw it at night, when the many col- 
ored fairy-lamps and lanterns were sparkling 
among the trees and shrubs, you could not 
soon forget it; and it would give you some 
idea of Venice by night, with its stars, and 
its gardens, and its dark boats and barges, 
rowed by singing gondoliers , as the boatmen 
there are called. 

The old books of the Capuchin monks, 
(one of the Orders of St. Francis) — tell us, 
that there once lived in this city of the sea, 
a famous lawj^er. 

He (we will call him Signor Marini) was 
very clever, but very wicked. He cheated 
good people and took bribes from bad people, 
until at last he grew enormously rich. 

His whole life was very evil ; and it seems 
that he had only a single good habit — that 
of saying every day one little Hail Mary . 

Father Matthew da Basso was a well- 
known priest at that time in Venice, and the 
lawyer had a great liking for him. When- 


164 


JOCKO . 


ever they met in society or business, (as it 
might chance to be), Marini was always press- 
ing Father Matthew to come and dine at his 
house. 

“ If you will only come, Father,” he w T ould 
say, “ I will show you a great curiosity.” 

Now, the worthy priest did not care much 
to visit this bad man ; but he remembered 
that his Divine Master, our Lord Jesus 
Christ, did not come to seek the just, but the 
lost sheep of the house of Israel. Maybe, if 
he went to see him, he could help to save the 
soul of this poor sinner — who was poor in- 
deed, in the sight of God, in spite of all his 
great riches. 

So, one day, Father da Basso stepped into 
a boat, and told the gondolier to take him to 
Signor Marini’s house. 

It was a splendid palace in the grandest 
part of Venice, with a great marble staircase 
running down to the water’s edge. 

The lawyer in a dressing-gown of gold- 
colored brocade and a smoking cap of green 


JOCKO . 


165 


velvet, came out into the magnificent hall to 
welcome the priest. He had just arrived 
home from his office, and he was in high good 
humor. 

He rubbed his hands, and said a great 
many kind and polite things to his guest. 
Then, he led the way into a beautiful dining- 
room glittering with rosewood and crystal 
and silver-plate. 

“ Where is Jocko ? ” he asked of a servant. 

“I don’t know, Signor,” said the man. 

“ Go, and look for him,” cried the lawyer, 
“ and bring him here at once ! 

“ Now, Father Matthew,” he went on, 
when the man had gone : “ I am going to 

show you something very, very strange — • 
something, I am sure, you have never seen in 
your life before.” 

“ What is that, my son ? ” asked the 
priest. 

“Your Reverence will stare when you see 
my body-servant, Jocko. He is an ape — a 
wonderful ape, who washes my glasses, lays 


1GG 


JOCKO . 


the table, opens the door, and does a dozen 
like queer things.” 

“This may be something more than an 
ape,” said Father da Basso with a little 
shudder. “ Order him to come here to me.” 

“ I have just sent the servant for him. I 
cannot understand why he was not here when 
I came home from the office. He always 
waits for me in this room ; and this is the 
first time he has missed meeting and fawning 
on me in all the years I have had him.” 

The priest looked very grave. 

“ Some one is rapping at the door,” he 
said. 

It was the man who had been sent to 
fetch the ape. 

“ Jocko is nowhere to be found, Signor,” 
he announced. 

“Have you searched the house, block- 
head ? ” cried the lawyer angrily. 

“We have gone all over the palace, 
Signor, and shouted ‘ Jocko ! ’ till we are 
hoarse, — and yet — ” 


JOCKO. 


167 


Here, a woman-servant broke in with an 
outcry : 

“ They have found him, master ! They 
have found Jocko hidden under a bed in the 
basement ! He wouldn't come out, but 
growled and showed his teeth ! ” 

“Come,” said Father Matthew to Marini, 
“ come, Signor, let us go and see him, since 
he refuses to come to us.” 

They went down into the dark, damp 
room, whose outside walls were washed by 
the green waters of the sea, and curtained 
with seaweed. 

“ Jocko has never done such a thing as this 
before ! ” said the puzzled lawyer, waving a 
lamp so as to show the big, hairy shape of 
the brute, back against the wall, under a ser- 
vant’s bed. 

But Father da Basso had drawn a stole 
from his pocket, and placed it round his 
neck. 

“ Now,” he cried to the ape : “ Come 

forth this moment, infernal beast! In the 


168 


JOCKO. 


name of God, I command you to tell me 
what you are ! ” 

“ I am a Devil ! ” roared the brute, as he 
crept out — a great, ugly, foul-smelling 
creature — from under the bed, and rolled on 
the floor at Father Matthew’s feet. 

“ And what are you doing in this house?” 
questioned the priest. 

“ I am waiting,” growled the ape, “ until 
that sinner ” — (and he glared with his fiery 
eyes at the lawyer, who had grown white as 
death, and was shaking from head to foot ) : 
“ I am waiting till that miserable sinner 
misses some day his one Hail Mary to Her 
whom we devils hate ! ” 

“And what will you do then , monster?” 
pressed the priest. 

“ The first time he misses it,” replied the 
brute with a horrible laugh : “ the very first 
time, God has given me leave to choke him, 
and carry him off to hell ! ” 

At these dreadful words, the trembling 
lawyer flung himself on his knees before 


JOCKO. 


169 


Father da Basso, and sobbed out with floods 
of tears : 

“ Help me, Father Matthew ! For the 
love of our sweet Mother Mary, (whom I am 
not fit to name), help me, and drive this 
demon -Ape away ! ” 

“ Have courage, my son,” said the priest : 
“ repent all of your sins, and fear not ! v 

Then, turning to the ape who was watch- 
ing Marini with a look of baffled rage, ter- 
rible to see — Father Matthew said solemnly : 
“ Depart, infernal beast ! from this house, 
and do no harm to anyone or anything in it, 
— only as a sign that you are really gone, 
break a hole in yonder wall ! ” 

Scarcely had he spoken the words, when a 
great crash was heard. A hole was made in 
the wall, and the demon-Ape had vanished. 

This hole, the old book tells us, was after- 
wards several times closed with stone and 
mortar, but each time, it would be found 
broken open again. At last, by the advice 
of Father da Basso, it was filled up with a 


170 


JOCKO . 


slab of marble on which was carved the 
figure of a beautiful angel. 

The lawj^er was converted from his wicked 
life, and we may be sure that all the rest of 
his days he was gratefully devoted to the 
service of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and that 
he never let a day or night pass without 
thinking of the demon- Ape, and saying 
with great fervor the Hail Mary that had 
saved him from death and Hell. 


THE FIRST VALENTINE 



H ! ’twas not a soulless ditty 
From some love-lorn cavalier ; 

But warm words of loving pity, 
Strong with counsel, rich with 
cheer, — 


Writ by Valentine the holy 
To a martyr of old Rome, 

Christ’s confessor, poor and lowly, 
In some dungeon’s living tomb. 


And its reader thrilled with ardor, 
Burned and glowed with love divine, 
And the last breath of the martyr 
Bless’d that first pure Valentine! 

(171) ' 


THE BOY WHO WAS DARED . 


DREADFUL thing had happened on 
board of the big steamer making its 
way from France to the United 
States, one sultry September morn- 
ing. 

A bad man had stabbed himself with a 
pocketknife in a dark corner of' the steerage. 
Loud cries were heard of “ Murder ! ” and 
“ He’s dyin’ ! ” and “ Somebody stop the 
blood!” 

They had carried him up on deck — the 
captain was there in the crowd, and the 
ship’s doctor, and the Roman Catholic bishop. 
An old Irish woman in a ruffled cap and 
blanket shawl had hurried him from his cabin 
to the spot. 

“ He ought ov bin a Cath’lic, me lord ! ” 
she panted : “ for his name’s Mulrooney ; but 
I’m afraid he’s the divil’s own now!” 

( 172 ) 



THE BOY WHO WAS DARED. 


173 


The bishop was putting on his stole, but 
just as he dropped on his knees beside the 
ghastly, blood-covered wretch, the ship’s 
doctor stood up and said : 

“ The man is dead ! ” 

“ Poor fellow ! ” said a calm, sweet voice 
at the bishop’s back, “ he’s better off — (then 
with a deep sigh, and in a lower tone) : “ I 

wish I were in his place ! ” 

“ ’Dade then, but you're bad off ! ” cried the 
old Irish woman in disgust : “ Is it better 

off the spalpeen is, to go to hell in his sins ? 
That’s quare talk ov ye, to be wishin’ to be 
in his place wid the divil an’ his imps ! ” 

“ Silence ! ” roared the Captain, “ and back, 
all of you, to the steerage ! ” 

The bishop rose from his knees as the 
crowd scattered ; and the sailors hustling 
off the dead body of the suicide, began to 
wash his blood from the deck. 

The man who had spoken his views about 
the miserable Mulrooney and been scolded 
for it by the old woman, had moved away to 


174 


THE BOY WHO WAS DARED. 


the railing at the ship’s side. He was tall 
and handsome, and in the prime of life, 
richly dressed, and clearly a gentleman of 
education. 

But his face, as he stood staring silently 
down into the water, was the very saddest 
the bishop had ever seen. He looked as if 
he hadn’t a single joy or hope in life. There 
were bitter lines about his mouth, and his 
eyes had the worn, faded look that comes 
from want of sleep. 

“ Who is he ? ” asked the bishop of the 
ship’s doctor. 

“ His name’s Lagen — Professor Dionysius 
Lagen — ” replied the young doctor : “ He’s 

from some California college. Been spend- 
ing his vacation in France. A smart man — 
but a queer one. I’ll tell you more about 
him some other day. I’ve got to see a sick 
lady over here. And there’s a bad storm 
coming up. We’ll catch it before night, if 
I’m not mistaken ! ” 

The doctor hurried away, and the servant 


THE BOY WHO WAS DARED. 


175 


of God began to pace up and down the deck, 
saying his beads. He was a gentle, saintly 
old man, full of the spirit of the Lord, and 
burning with tender love for the souls Christ 
died to save. His heart was heavy with the 
thought of the wretch who had rushed, that 
hour, into the awful presence of God with all 
his sins upon his head. 

Perhaps, however, the fellow had been crazy 
— he might not have been responsible for his 
crime. At least, it would be well to offer 
the beads for the repose of his soul. 

How dreadful that any sane man could 
envy him such a terrible fate ! 

A sharp flash of lightning and a loud clap 
of thunder aroused the bishop from his 
thoughts and prayers. 

The wind had begun to blow a hurricane ; 
and the Captain was giving orders to clear 
the decks. 

The storm was down upon the ship in all 
its fury. 

Before the bishop could reach his cabin 


176 


THE BOY WHO WAS DARED. 


close by, the rain was beginning to fall in 
great sheets — and the ship was pitching like 
a mad creature in pain. 

The bishop tried to make fast his cabin- 
door against the roaring wind, but found 
that something (or some one), beside the 
storm, was thundering against it. 

In two minutes, it had burst open, and a 
man rushed wildly in, and bolted the door 
behind him. 

It was — Professor Lagen ! 

He was white as death, and shaking like 
a man in a fit. 

“ Don’t drive me from you, bishop ! ” he 
pleaded : “ Let me stay here with you, 

please, till it is all over ! ” 

He gave one long look into the calm, 
sweet face of the holy man, with its innocent 
eyes and crown of silvery hair : and then, he 
fell down at the bishop’s feet twining his 
arms around his waist, and burying his face 
on his fatherly knee. 


THE BOY WHO WAS DARED. 177 

44 Are you, indeed, a Catholic ? ” whispered 
the bishop. 

The man shuddered from head to foot : 

“ I am nothing but a coward ! ” he groaned. 

“ Courage, my son ! ” said the bishop, 
adding : “ maybe, you would like to make 
your confession ” 

“ No ! oh, no ! ” cried the Professor: “ not 
yet — not yet — hark to that thunder-clap ! ” 
(and he covered his eyes with his handker- 
chief). “ How the ship pitches ! Do you 
think she can stand it, Bishop, or shall we all 
go to the bottom? ” 

“We shall go to ‘the house of our eter- 
nity,’ my child,” whispered the holy man: 
“ Thither, we must go in the end, whether 
it be to-day, or to-morrow, or ten years from 
now. If you are in sin, I beg of you to 
make your peace with God, and all shall be 
well with you.” 

“ I have not been to confession for thirty 
years,” groaned the gentleman: “but if I 

thought — if I thought ” 

12 


178 


THE BOY WHO WAS DARED. 


He lifted his face from the bishop’s knee 
as he spoke — then started to his feet — and 
stared, pointing joyfully to the cabin-window. 

A flood of light from the setting sun 
poured through it upon the floor ! The ship 
had passed out of the squall as suddenly as 
she had passed into it. The sky was blue 
and clear — the storm was over. 

Professor Lagen went over and brushed 
his hair in front of the mirror, straightened 
and smoothed his tumbled clothing. Then, 
he took from his pocketbook a roll of bank- 
notes, and laid them on the table, and with 
a quiet “ Thank you*, sir, and this is for your 
poor ! ” to the astonished bishop, opened the 
door, and walked proudly away. 

During the three days that followed, 
Dionysius Lagen neither looked at nor spoke 
to the holy man to whom he had clung so 
desperately during the storm. 

On the morning of the fourth day, the 
bishop was passing the door of the Profes- 
sor’s cabin, when he heard a loud groan. 


THE BOY WHO WAS DARED. 179 

He entered, and saw that strange man 
lying in his berth with his face flashed 
scarlet, and his eyes glittering like diamonds. 

He seemed to be in a high fever — did not 
recognize the bishop— and kept muttering 
over and over again : 

“ I’ve lost it — I’ve lost it ! And I can 
never, never, never get it back again ! ” 

The ship’s doctor came in as he raved. 

‘‘What has he lost, think you?” asked 
the bishop. 

“ His money, I suppose,” replied the 
doctor coolly. “ I saw him playing cards, last 
night.” 

“You don’t think he’s a gambler?” 
whispered the bishop with a troubled look. 

“ Blamed if I know ! ” said the doctor with 
a short laugh : “ maybe he’s ‘ the man that 
broke the bank at Monte Carlo ’ ! ” 

“He’s very ill just now, anyhow, isn’t he, 
doctor?” sighed the gentle bishop. 

“Oh ! he’s been taking that infernal drug 
— see ! ” and the young man lifted from the 


180 


THE BOY WHO' WAS DARED. 


table a little silver box half-filled with what 
looked liked a black paste. The lid lay be- 
side it. 

“ It’s an Indian drug,” went on the doctor, 
“very rare and very costly. First, it flushes 
the face and excites the brain, but after a 
while, it puts one into a sound sleep that 
lasts for hours.” 

“Does it ever last forever ? ” questioned 
the bishop. 

“Sometimes: — if one takes an overdose. 
This man’s used to it — oh ! this isn’t the 
first time it’s knocked him up. It’s a deadly 
thing ; in time, it weakens the heart, and 
causes death.” 

“ There’s a call for you in the steerage, 
doctor,” said one of the ship’s men putting 
his head in at the door : “ A baby’s 

swallowed a button ! ” 

“ Will you stay here a while with him, 
bishop ? ” said the doctor getting up with a 
laugh: “just give him a spoonful of the 
stuff there in the tumbler every fifteen 


THE BOY WHO WAS DARED. 


181 


minutes, and don’t be frightened. He’ll be 
cool enough and sensible enough in an hour’s 
time.” 

“ I’ll stay,” said the bishop quietly. 

The hour went slowly past. The holy 
man waited tenderly and carefully on the 
unconscious Professor. 

He was still muttering fiercely: 

“I’ve lost it — I’ve lost it — and I can 
never, never get it back again I ” when he 
fixed his eyes for the first time upon the 
bishop’s face, and recognized it. He was 
weak as a newborn baby — and the sad eyes 
filled, overflowed, with tears. 

“ I took an overdose of the drug,” he said 
feebly : “ I have been nearly crazy for want 

of sleep.” 

The bishop put his finger on his pulse — it 
was almost gone. He gave him quickly an- 
other spoonful from the tumbler, and then 
whispered gently : 

“What have you lost, my child? ” 

It was some minutes before the sick man 


182 


TIIE BOY WHO WAS DARED. 


could answer, and then he said two startling 
words : 

“ My faith ! ” 

He lay quiet some minutes, and then 
seemed to grow suddenly stronger. 

“ It was at college,” he said, “ thirty years 
ago. I was very pious then . I went to 
Holy Communion every week. One of the 
boys asked me to read a book — a bad French 
book. He was a wicked boy — a devil in 
human shape. He used to come to my 
room at night. ‘ Read this book,’ he would 
say, ‘and you’ll never believe anything the 
priest tells you any more I ’ I wouldn’t lis- 
ten to him at first;— but one Saturday night, 
after I had been to confession, he met me on 
the stairs, and laughed at me. ‘I dare you 
to read this book ! ’ he cried : ‘ you’re a cow- 
ard — you’re afraid of the priest ! ’ ‘ I’m no 

coward ! ’ I shouted : ‘ give me your old 
book — I’ll read it before I sleep to-night; 
and to-morrow, to-morrow Til show you how 
false it is ! ' I really thought I was wise 


THE BOY WHO WAS DARED. 


183 


enough, strong enough, to read the book, 
and thrust the lie, next day, in the fellow’s 
teeth. 

“ What is it that the good Book says, 
bishop ? 4 Let him who thinketh himself to 
stand, take heed lest he fall ’ — isn’t it ? I took 
the book — I read it till the daylight began to 
come in at my room -window. It was Sun- 
day morning. The bell rang for Mass. I 
did not go to it. I have never gone to Mass 
or Holy Communion since . I had lost my 
Faith ! 

“ Oh, bishop ! my lost, unhappy life ! ” he 
cried, while his face worked horribly. “ Oh, 
bishop ! my heart ! I cannot see you — is 
this death ? ” 

The bishop bent over him — his stole was 
round his neck — the blessed crucifix in his 
hand. There was a great deal to be done, 
and very little time to do it in. 

But the grace and mercy of God are be- 
yond all bounds ; — and sometimes, the sim- 
ple faith and loving trust of childhood come 


184 


THE BOY WHO WAS DARED. 


back in death to the repentant sinner as 
they did that hour to Dionysius Lagen. 

When the ship’s doctor ran up whistling 
from the steerage, with the baby’s button 
between his fingers, the Professor lay like a 
waxen statue in his berth, his eyes closed, 
and his lips smiling sweetly as a little 
child’s. 

“ He is dead ! ” cried the doctor. 

“Nay, nay,” said the holy bishop with 
swimming eyes: “not dead, my friend, but 
(God be praised !) only just beginning to 
live ! ” 


THE DARLING OF THE HOUSE. 


UNSHINE dwells within her bosom, 
Sunshine brightens all her dreams, 
From her face, (so like a blossom,) 
God’s serenest sunshine streams. 

Shall I whisper, “ Storms may lower, — 
Sunshine fades from fairest skies — ? ” 

Shall I murmur : “ Every flower 

Quickly droops and quickly dies — ? ” 

Ah ! no, — let her, (loved and loving,) 
Onward go in gentle mirth : 

By her happy spirit proving 

What a heav’n Love makes of earth! 

( 185 ) 



NAHA SAHIB. 


N Colonel Poppleton came back 
•om the war in India, he went 
) visit his widowed sister, Mrs. 
rrant, who had moved to Ireland 
during his absence. 

He had not seen her for ten years, and he 
was much surprised at two things: first, 
that her children had all died before she left 
England ; and second, that she had adopted 
a little Irish orphan girl named Betty Malone, 
and allowed her to call her mamma. 

There was a third thing that had happened 
to his sister which would have surprised 
Colonel Poppleton more than all the others 
— but this he did not come to know until he 
had been at Mrs. Grant’s a couple of months. 

He was a cold, proud old officer, and he 
hated the Irish. But there was something 
very winning in little Betty Malone. She 
( 186 ) 



NANA SAHIB . 


187 


had the cutest little rosy face in the world, 
and her round, bright eyes and long, curling 
hair were both of a beautiful brown. Her 
laugh was like music in the house, and she 
was always showing two rows of pretty white 
teeth ; and skipping and dancing, like a fairy, 
from morning till night. She loved to wait 
on the Colonel, and every morning brought 
him his shaving-water, and every night, his 
slippers and dressing gown. 

So that, when he gave Mrs. Grant a lovely 
pair of golden filigree bracelets he had 
brought her (for a present) from India ; and 
Mrs. Grant asked him : 

“ Have you nothing for little Betty, 
brother ? ” 

He took out of his trunk a big, wooden 
doll and put it into the little girl’s lap say- 
ing : 

“ There’s Nana Sahib for you, Betty, and 
don’t fall in love with her beauty ! ” 

“ There isn’t much danger of that” thought 
Betty. But she was too polite to tell the 


188 


NANA SAHIB. 


Colonel how the horrible thing frightened 
and worried her. 

It certainly had a dreadful face, with big 
red clay balls for eyes, a grim, ugly line for 
a mouth, and a lot of coarse black hair stick- 
ing out from its head, which was painted a 
staring yellow. It was dressed in green 
India silk, and wore a string of red coral 
beads around its horrid neck. 

“ Where on earth did you get that fright, 
Colonel?” asked Mrs. Grant. 

“ A madman of a Coolie tried to kill me 
once, because I laughed at an ugly idol in 
his pagoda; and when one of our soldiers 
knocked him down, that thing fell out of the 
cloth he wore around his waist. As he 
never got up again,” said the officer with a 
queer smile, “ the men left the doll in my 
tent.” 

“ Please, Colonel,” put in little Betty in 
her pleasant voice : “ why do you call her 
‘ Nana Sahib ’ t ” 

“ Because,” said the Colonel with a laugh : 


NANA SAHIB. 


189 


“ that’s the proper way to name a lady out in 
India, where she came from ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” said Betty. But all the same, she 
couldn’t see that her new doll looked any- 
thing like a real lady or a real gentleman 
either. 

She did her best, however, to play with 
the dreadful toy whenever the Colonel was 
in the room, so as to let him see that she 
was very grateful for his gift. 

The next month the old English officer 
found out the third thing which, (as we said 
in the beginning) had happened to his sister 
while he was away for years fighting in the 
Indian wars. 

She had turned into a Roman Catholic ! 

The Colonel thought this was a terrible 
thing. Every one belonging to him had 
always been good Protestants ; and although 
he himself did not believe in anything, — in 
fact, did not go to church at all — he was 
furious at the thought of his sister, his ele- 
gant, educated, high-bred sister, having joined 


190 


NANA SAHIB. 


a church that had room in it for all those 
“low, coarse, dirty Irish,” as he called them. 
He packed his trunk as soon as Mrs. Grant 
told him this piece of news ; and oft he 
posted to England the very same day. 

He did worse. He stopped at once the 
large sum of money he had been sending his 
sister every year since her husband died, and 
which she needed very much, as Mr. Grant 
had left her, (as Colonel Poppleton had often 
said), “ as poor as a church mouse.” 

She was now, indeed, as poor as a Catholic 
church mouse, for Protestant churches have 
no place for the poor, although our Lord said 
to His own followers : “ The poor ye have 

always with you.” 

Mrs. Grant began to teach music for a 
living. But it was very hard work, and she 
made very, very little money. If it had not 
been for the good Irish neighbors, she and 
her little girl would have starved. 

Some one said to her: “ You had better 
put Betty in the Asylum.” 


NANA SAHIB. 


191 


But she couldn’t bear to part with the 
sweet, bright, loving little creature. She 
was all the sunshine she had in her poor 
dreary room. And the little thing did her 
best to cook for her, and wait on her, and 
cheer her when the days were dark and cold, 
and the nights sleepless. 

At last, there came a bleak winter morn- 
ing when there was not a bite of food in the 
cupboard, or a stick of wood in the house to 
kindle a fire. 

“ What shall we do, Betty, what shall we 
do?” moaned poor Mrs. Grant, her eyes full 
of tears, and her heart full of sorrow. 

Betty’s eye fell on Nana Sahib , the Col- 
onel’s gift, lying flat in a corner, staring at 
the ceiling with her horrible red eyes. 

“ Mamma ! ” she tried : “ let me chop her 
up for firewood. I never could bear her any- 
how. And she’ll do some good, the ugly 
thing, if she only starts the fire for us ! ” 

Betty tore off the green silk dress and the 


192 


NANA SAHIB. 


coral necklace, as she spoke, and seizing the 
axe, gave a crack at Nana Sahib's head. 

But the little arm was not strong, and all 
she did was to knock out the doll’s big beady 
eyes. 

One of them rolled to Mrs. Grant’s feet on 
the hearthstone. The fall had broken apart 
the dry red clay that covered it, and the 
lady saw with great surprise that something 
was shining there like a fallen star. 

She stooped, and picked it up. 

It was a magnificent ruby! 

Betty was not long in finding the other 
eye for her mother. A valuable stone lay 
hidden in it, as well. 

Then, Mrs. Grant took up the axe, and 
struck a good, strong blow on the head and 
body of the Indian doll. 

Good gracious ! what were all those bright, 
round, yellow things that came pouring out 
upon the floor ? 

Betty danced for joy. They were ail 
golden coins that had been hidden in a hoi- 


NANA SAIIIB. 


193 


low place inside of Nana Sahib , — and now 
there was plenty of money to buy food, and 
firewood, and everything they needed ! 

Mrs. Grant hurried off with the rubies to 
a jeweler’s shop, and the man there gladly 
gave her what would be as much as seventy- 
five dollars of American money for the two 
valuable stones. 

The gold coins besides were worth more 
than three hundred dollars, so that Mrs. 
Grant and Betty were in no danger of starv- 
ing or freezing to death just yet. Before 
they had used the half of the wealth that 
Nana Sahib had given them,** old Colonel 
Poppleton died suddenly in London of the 
apoplexy. As he left no will, and Mrs. Grant 
was his only living relation, all his large for- 
tune and his beautiful house in England 
came after all to his “ Papist ” sister. 

And there, she lives to this day, a good, 
devout Roman Catholic, very charitable to 

the poor and the suffering: and there, (with 
13 


194 


NANA SAHIB. 


her) the joy and blessing of her life, lives her 
adopted daughter, Betty Malone. 

She has grown into a beautiful, graceful 
girl, and she often amuses her young friends 
by telling them the wonderful story of Nana 
Sahib, and showing them how we can never 
judge by appearances, for the ugliest head and 
the dullest eyes may sometimes hide the 
richest and rarest treasures. 


THE MIND OF A LITTLE MAID. 


IKE the slow blooming of a gracious 
bud 

This little maiden’s mind shall 
opened be ; 

First, a faint sunbeam — then, a radiant flood 
Of noontide light, must warm it thor- 
oughly. 


Should some rude hand the tiny blossom 
break, 

Or crush, or stain its virgin promise 
sweet — 

Ne’er on its em’rald stem can it awake 
To nature’s full-blown loveliness complete. 

Have then a care, sweet friends, lest sin’s 
rude touch, 

Or hell’s foul mildew blight the budding 
mind ! 

If virtue’s perfect bloom be not for such, 
The blossom fades, and leaves no scent be- 
hind. 


( 195 ) 


A FUNNY STORY OF A VOCATION. 


ATHER FRANCIS XAVIER DI 
MARIA, at one time stationed at St. 
Joseph’s Church, Philadelphia, was 
born at Caserta, a small town on the 
Campagna, a few miles from the city of 
Naples, Italy. From chance words dropped 
by the holy Jesuit, as well as from that 
nameless air of dignity and high breeding 
which, in spite of his singular humility, per- 
vaded all he said or did — we have always 
fancied that his family was a noble and 
wealthy one. The story of his religious vo- 
cation, which we have heard him tell, was so 
amusing that we cannot refrain from giving 
it to our readers — only regretting that we 
cannot furnish them as well, the matchless 
charm of look and gesture that accompanied 
the original story. 

( 196 ) 



A FUNNY STORY OF A VOCATION, 197 

When Francis was a little boy at home in 
Italy, his father had a friend and neighbor, 
an eccentric old army-officer who, (retired 
upon his pension,) lived peacefully enough in 
seclusion the greater part of the year. On 
high days and holy days, however, this 
ancient son of Mars was accustomed to air 
his past glories, and appear upon the streets 
of the village in a uniform so long out of 
date, that its every tarnished button, medal, 
and exaggerated furbelow, drove into fits of 
laughter the troop of boys that always fol- 
lowed, at such times, in his wake. 

Francis was then a lively little lad of some 
ten or eleven years, who dearly loved a bit 
of sport. His animal spirits, in fact, (as is 
the case with many another good boy,) were 
apt to get the better of his gentle breeding 
and naturally kind heart. 

On one occasion, when the old General was 
out for his full dress parade, the little Di 
Maria followed him merrily with the rest of 


198 A FUNNY STORY OF A VOCATION. 


the grinning urchins, forgetting for the 
nonce, that 

“ The blessing of God is the fruit, ’tis said, 

Of reverence paid to the hoary head.” 

In an unlucky moment, the old officer 
turning, beheld the son of his venerated 
friend, marching in the rear, and mimicking 
to the life his own pompous gait. An 
instant before, he might have exclaimed with 
Sullivan’s self-complacent Col. Calverley : 

“ When I first put this uniform on, 

I said as I looked in the glass : 

‘ It’s one to a million, 

If any civilian 

Its splendor can hope to surpass ; ’ ” — 

but a change came o’er the spirit of his 
dream, when he heard the shouts of mocking 
laughter that went up from the young fol- 
lowers of the naughty Francis. He hurried 
off at once to Signor Di Maria, and made his 
angry complaint. Francisco’s behavior was 
not only the very worst of bad taste, but it 
proved that he had a depraved and evil heart 


A FUNNY STORY OF A VOCATION. 199 

to thus openly insult his father’s friend, etc., 
etc., etc. 

The good parent was grieved and annoyed 
at the thoughtless tricks of his little son. 
As soon as the indignant visitor had gone, 
swelling with rage, — the Signor summoned 
Francis to his presence. The little fellow 
obeyed, with fear and trembling. Scolding 
him soundly, his father gave him a lecture on 
the Fourth Commandment, — and ended by 
telling him that the very next time he was 
caught in such a prank, he would be sent im- 
mediately to College. 

Now, the little Francis dearly loved his 
home and his mother, and to be sent away to 
College, was as bad (in his judgment) as be- 
ing banished for life to a penitentiary. 
Hence, he listened soberly to his father, and 
made a resolution to sin no more — a resolu- 
tion, by the way, which was not put to the 
test for many a long day to come. But, 
alas ! all flesh is grass ; and high days and 
holidays bring with them ever (even for older 


200 A FUNNY STORY OF A VOCATION. 

heads and hearts than our lively hoy’s,) a 
dangerous atmosphere of temptation ! 

One of the old officer’s red-letter days hav- 
ing arrived in due time, — down came the 
ancient uniform from its peg in his wardrobe, 
and out into the sunny streets of Caserta, 
marched the veteran, his plumed hat on 
his head, his sword clanking in his belt, and 
as many jingling medals on his breast as 
would serve a modern belle for a full set of 
bangles. 

Away ran the merry urchins at his heels, 
whooping and cheering ; and (as fate would 
have it,) just in time to meet little Francis 
Di Maria on his parole of honor, walking 
straight into the jaws of temptation. All 
the wild fun that lay dormant in the boy’s 
heart, awoke at the sight of the old General 
out on full dress parade. Father, mother, 
home, — College , — all were forgotten on the 
instant; and, casting prudence and pious 
lectures to the winds, Francis fell into the 
line of march, and stiffened himself up into 


A FUNNY STORY OF A VOCATION. 201 

such a strutting, pompous little image of the 
vain old soldier, that the reckless throng of 
youngsters roared in concert, with comical 
convulsions and capers of delight. 

Ah ! as the wise old A Kempis warningly 
assures us : “ Many a joyful going abroad 
maketh a sorrowful coming home ; ” and lit- 
tle Di Maria was convinced, before that fatal 
night closed in, of the full force of the say- 
ing. 

The enraged General had been before him 
a second time, in an angry interview with his 
father. He demanded satisfaction, and it 
was amply given to him. In vain, did Fran- 
cis cast himself at the Signor’s feet, and with 
tears and sobs implore his pardon, beseech of 
him another trial, just one more chance, 
to prove his repentance for his folly, his firm 
purpose of amendment. In vain, also, did 
his gentle lady-mother join her tears and 
prayers to his own. Signor Di Maria was 
this time, not to be coaxed or moved. The 
word had been spoken. The trunks were 


202 A FUNNY STORY OF A VOCATION 


packed without delay, and in an agony of 
grief, our poor little Francis was hurried 
away to a distant college. 

Some weeks passed over ; and then, word 
came from the Professors to the excellent 
father that his little son was ill ; he could 
neither eat, sleep, nor study. The Signor 
answered the letter in person ; and the good 
Jesuits advised him to take the little fellow 
to his mother for a few days. Once on his 
his native heath, in the arms of his tender 
mamma, the mysterious disease vanished, 
and the little rogue frolicked around the 
dear old homestead, eating like a plough boy, 
and (like the comfortable gentleman in Thana- 
topsis ) sleeping 

“ all night in Elysium.” 

The father’s keen eye took in the situa- 
tion. 

“Nothing but home-sickness,” he said to 
himself. “As the twig is bent, the tree’s 
inclined.” 


A FUNNY STORY OF A VOCATION. 203 

So, when the roses bloomed once more in 
his boy’s cheek, when his eye was brightest, 
and his laugh merriest, — the father’s com- 
mand fell like a thunderbolt upon Francis 
and his doting mother : 

“ Pack his trunks ; he must go back to 
college to-morrow ! ” 

When the Signor spoke with that look on 
his face — there was no appeal ! Back went 
the unwilling student to his college-prison, 
tears streaming down his rosy cheeks, his 
heart swelling under his little jacket. 

A few days of silence followed ; then came 
another letter to Caserta from the Jesuit 
Professors. Master Di Maria had a relapse ; 
he was sick once more with that strange dis- 
order. 

The Signor arose in his might. He was 
sternly resolved to have no more trifling — to 
put an end at once, to this long-drawn battle 
between his own will and that of his clever 
little son. As before, he went in person to 
the college ; and, being shown to the infirm- 


204 A FUNNY STORY OF A VOCATION. 

ary, sat down beside the bed of the little in- 
valid, and opened fire instanter : 

“ So you are sick again, my son ? ” 

“ O yes, papa, — ve — ry sick,” was the 
melancholy reply, but in spite of the lan- 
guid tone, the little rascal’s eyes snapped at 
the delicious visions that danced before 
them, — the breezy trip home : the escape 
from study : the garden, the green fields, 
and the tender mamma to coddle him, and 
give him sweetmeats! 

The sudden flash of delight was not lost 
upon the shrewd parent. He went on at 
once to put it out with a dash of cold water. 

“ I have come to give you } r our choice of 
two things, my boy,” he said, with a sub- 
dued twinkle in his eye : “ to stay here and 
be nursed,” (the listener’s face fell,) “ or to 

come home with me ” 

“ O yes, yes, papa, dearest papa, at once,” 
springing up in bed, — “ if the Brother will 

but bring my clothes ” 

“Hold on !” interrupted the Signor with 


A FUNNY STORY OF A VOCATION. 205 

mock severity, “ you have not heard me out. 
I was about to remark that you could come 
home with me — to the town hospital , where 
they will take the best care of you until you 
are able to return to College ! ” 

Francis Xavier Di Maria burst into tears. 
He was outwitted, out-generaled; there was 
nothing left but to surrender at discretion. 

He got out of his bed, put on his little 
clothes, and went to his studies like a good, 
sensible boy. 

The father had no more trouble with him. 

Henceforth, he was a model student ; and 
at last, he grew to love the hateful college 
more than he did his own dear home, yes, 
more than his doting mother, kindred, and 
friends ; for when he was but seventeen 
years old, he entered the Jesuit noviceship. 

If Signor Di Maria had weakly yielded to 
the humors of his little son, the world would 
have lost a hero, — the Church, an apostle. 
But, out of the punishment of a wild boy’s 
frolic, came forth, by the mercy of God, the 


206 A FUNNY STORY OF A VOCATION . 


beginning of a sublime vocation. The little 
madcap of Caserta, as a devoted priest and 
follower of St. Ignatius, became in the de- 
signs of heaven, a great instrument for God’s 
glory and the salvation of souls. 

Note. — “The Last Witness of a Mission Tragedy,” 
“The Queen’s Rosary,” “A Visitor from Purgatory,” 
and “ Little Vestry and the White Scapular ” were first 
printed in the Augustinian magazine of Our Lady of 
Good Counsel; “Margaret’s Conversion ” in the Messen- 
ger of the Sacred Heart , and “The Catechism of the 
Clock ” and “ Louis’ First Communion ” in Kelly’s 
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